


For bodily use only

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Model, Blowjobs, Building Relationship, Childhood Memories, Flirting, Football, Literature, M/M, Massage, Porthos makes terrible jokes, Sex, Teasing, handjobs, hands down some pants, let's drink beer and make out, you got what in what, you're not subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is an artist. One night, Porthos stumbles on one of his models who happens to not be wearing a lot of clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos is a man on a mission and if he dares say so, he's handling his burden quite remarkably. He manages to open the door of Athos's building and then the door to his loft while balancing two pizzas and one pack of beer in his hands.

 

It's about time, though, when he deposits everything on the counter in the seemingly empty living room. He's sweating a bit and he navigates the kitchen to get some water as if it was his own appartment. It might as well, for all the time he spends there.

 

This part of the loft being quiet despite the lights on, Porthos downs his water and wanders towards the room Athos uses as his art studio. Or rather, he starts going there when the bathroom door suddenly opens and a naked stranger emerges through it.

 

He seems as surprised as Porthos when he realizes he's not alone, and he clutches the single towel he's wearing draped around his waist with both hands.

 

“I forgot my jeans,” is his only explanation, and Porthos wonders if it's also an excuse. But he's too busy studying the gorgeous, albeit unsure, face staring back at him.

 

Porthos still doesn't say anything, mesmerized by the half-naked man who stumbles hastily to the couch, grabs the clothes left there and retreats to the bathroom. And as the door closes once more loudly, he realizes he never said a word.

 

“I didn't know you had company over,” Porthos calls out in the sudden silence until Athos emerges from his own bedroom, all the while buttoning his cardigan.

 

“I don't.”

 

“Well, in that case, you better call the police because there's a naked man in there,” he points to the bathroom and Athos shakes his head, leans against the kitchen counter.

 

“That's my model for my new project. Things got a bit dirty and I wasn't about to....not like _that_ ,” he scowls as Portos raises an eyebrow at what he just said.

 

“I mean, I wouldn't blame you. He's quite something. Where did you find him?”

 

“The university. They always have students willing to make some more money by modelling. Don't make that face, he's 27,” Athos adds because this time it's Porthos's turn to scowl at the word “student.” He relaxes at once, leans a bit closer, whispers outrageously loudly.

 

“And? Anything else which might prove interesting? Useful?”

 

“We didn't really chit-chat. We were working.”

 

He reaches for a beer, opens it, takes a few sips to celebrate an afternoon well-spent and all the work he's accomplished in only a couple of hours. He's exhausted, sure, but it's the good kind of exhaustion, and he's looking forward to doing it again.

 

Porthos follows suit, sits on a stool and drinks, too.

 

“So you're not interested?”

 

“I'm interested in his body, sure.”

“Did I say I was interested in something else?”

 

Athos rolls his eyes, waits for Porthos to be done laughing out loud to answer.

 

“You do know he can probably hear you, right?”

 

And he shakes his head, focuses on his drink as his best friend keeps on laughing.

 

It takes a couple more minutes before the student slash model comes back in the living room. He's fully clothed this time, jeans included, his hair is a bit damp and he has to constantly push back the curls falling on his face.

 

“Sorry about earlier,” he apologizes to Porthos. He doesn't look as sheepish as before.

 

“No problem,” Porthos dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “You know how to make an entrance, that's for sure.

 

“Always a pleasure.”

 

“I'm Porthos, by the way.”

 

“Aramis,” the stranger replies, shaking the extended hand. And then he has no other choice but to smile back at Porthos' warm eyes which keep staring right at him until Aramis blushes profusely.

 

“Nice to meet you. I got to say, you made my evening far better than I expected it to be when I got here.”

 

Athos tuts behind him, but it only makes Porthos chuckle.

 

“Glad to be of service.”

 

“We're...hmmm...going to watch the football match. You wanna stay a bit and have a beer?”

 

Athos rolls his eyes once more at his best friend shamelessly asking his model to hang out, in _his_ loft, on _his_ couch, and not even bothering to see if Athos had a problem with it.

 

He doesn't, not really. But it's not in his habit to spend more time than necessary with people he's seen naked in his studio. Better to keep it all very professional. Porthos has no scruple at all.

 

“That's tempting but I already have plans to watch it with friends. And...I'm going to be late!” Aramis realizes as he checks his watch. “But another time? That'd be great,” he suggests, half-buttoning his jacket and half-looking for his phone.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Excellent!” And he sounds so genuine that Porthos believes him. “Tomorrow at 6?” he then asks Athos who hands him a bunch of cash and nods to confirm.

 

“What are you doing?” Porthos asks once Aramis has left the place and he shakes his head so he won't keep staring at the closed front door. Athos is thrusting a piece of paper at him, one he's taken from his wallet as well. “What's that?”

 

“His contact info. I suppose you need it as much as I do.” Athos is grinning when Porthos glares at him.

 

“Did you hear what he said? I don't need his phone number. I'll be here tomorrow, too.”

 

And with that, he grabs his beer, the pizza boxes and strides to the couch, sits down comfortably, makes himself at home.


	2. Chapter 2

The next night turns out to be a Wednesday night and Porthos stalls after he's finished work. He's fully aware he could barge in on Athos and his model anytime he wanted, because he actually _wants_ to, and yet, Athos would have a fit if he was interrupted while making art.

 

So Porthos lounges at home until it's around 8pm and two hours is time enough to do all the sculpturing, painting or drawing that his best friend is doing at present. That's what he tells himself on the way out, but he still stops at the store to get some alcoholic offering in case he'd be proved wrong.

 

It's been ages since he rang for Athos to come and open the door so Porthos uses his key to find that all art must have been finished long ago. To his disappointment, Aramis is this time dressed and sitting on the couch.

 

Athos is on the other side of the couch and between them, there are dozens of books. Porthos has hardly ever seen them out of their shelves. They're here more as a decoration or to brag during parties than to be read by people.

 

Athos raises an eyebrow when he notices his presence then smirks at the bottle in Porthos' hand.

 

“I still have some beer from last night.”

 

“I didn't want you to throw me out if I was interrupting anything important.”

 

“How considerate. I'll get glasses. You're late, by the way,” he whispers when he passes Porthos and grabs the scotch from him.

 

Porthos huffs, gets rid of his jacket and stalks towards the couch and the model who appears to have moved on to the status of guest. Aramis lets go of the book he's holding and smiles widely. All Porthos can see are the crinkles around his eyes.

 

“Long time no see.”

 

Porthos makes it about two seconds before losing it and grinning stupidely. Aramis chuckles, too, leans forward on the couch so his elbows rest on his knees.

 

“You missed my show tonight.”

 

“So I've been told.”

 

“Such a shame, really.”

 

“Oh, I know.”

 

Porthos doesn't think about what he says and the words are out. He can picture Aramis wearing only a towel and the memory of the naked chest, the toned stomach and the couple of scars on it.

 

Aramis looks pleased, sits back on the couch, stretches his legs.

 

Athos rolls his eyes in the kitchen, hopes that his friend and Aramis will leave soon so he doesn't have to suffer that outrageous flirting any longer.

 

“So, what's all this?” Porthos asks when Athos comes back with filled glasses. He points at the books.

 

Aramis sips on his drink, thoughtfully.

 

“I'm doing a Master in Literature. And _these_ , are like the best treasure I've ever seen! Almost better than most of the libraries I've had the chance to visit and work in.”

 

Athos raises his glass to the compliment, empties it, refills it.

 

“That's good stuff, Porthos.”

 

“I know what you like.” Porthos winks. Athos scowls, cocks his head towards Aramis who is busy looking at the specific book Porthos had gestured at. “Which is why I also know that you need your beauty sleep after you've been working for hours and days at an end. I'll be leaving you to it, then.”

 

Athos frowns even more, not pleased by the lie invented to leave the appartment. Aramis doesn't seem to react to the joke. Instead, he finishes his drink as well, thanks him for letting him look at the books and makes sure they'll meet again in a couple of days again.

 

“Athos's a great artist,” Aramis mentions when they're both out in the street and heading to the nearest subway station. “Very dedicated.”

 

“Obsessed with detail, you mean,” Porthos corrects, and Aramis laughs, has to agree. He's lucky Athos keeps his studio well-heated or he might have frozen up there at one point. His back is still sore from sitting without moving for hours.

 

“It's certainly worth it. I saw some of his paintings in the studio and you're not such a bad model either.”

 

Aramis is smirking at him when Porthos glances his way.

 

“It's a pity you had clothes on, though.”

 

“Ah, well, what can I say. That's not for everyone.”

 

“What does it take?” Aramis asks, buries his hands deep in his jeans and stops because they've reached the subway station and he's no idea what's to come next.

 

People stroll past them, hurry up to meet friends, catch a movie, return home. Teenagers yell and skateboards zoom past, bikes and swarms of teenage girls, eyes on their phone, long hair, a dozen versions of the same shoes. But all Aramis can see is the man who's stopped next to him, the way his dimples show when he smiles and the mischief shinning in his eyes.

 

“Can I get you this beer we talked about last night? You haven't told me what you thought of the match.”

 

“That sounds like a great plan. Lead the way, please.”

 

So instead of taking the subway home, Porthos takes him to one of his favourite pubs.


	3. Chapter 3

It's loud in the pub, it's crammed with people who came for karaoke night but Porthos manages to find a table in a corner where he sits Aramis before going to get their drinks. He's not one for singing in front of strangers and he hopes Aramis won't try to get him to do it. He wouldn't mind a private session, though.

 

“That's a great place, very Irish,” Aramis remarks when Porthos comes back and puts the pint in front of him. His gaze wanders everywhere in the room, but soon settles on his companion, nodding in agreement and sipping his beer.

 

“It's usually not that packed. I forgot. Sorry about that.”

 

“Hey, no problem. As long as you don't haul me up there,” he says, pointing at the small stage where two girls are giving a rather off key interpretation of the Spice Girls. It's quite entertaining to watch.

 

“No worry. It's not my thing, either.”

 

Aramis grins.

 

“Good. So what's your thing? Unless you actually did bring me here to talk about football.”

 

“Would that be so bad?”

 

“As long as it's _not_ the only thing...Besides, I don't think you would appreciate my answers.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

Aramis slides closer in the booth, closes the gap between them and sits sideways so he can look Porthos in the eye.

 

“Yes, because you see, I'm glad Barcelona won.”

 

Just then, the two girls finish their performance and the pub erupts in cheers, more or less deserved. It takes some time before the next on the list get situated and another song starts. Meanwhile, Porthos looks at Aramis who is smirking and drinking.

 

“See, I told you you wouldn't like it. I'll make it up for you, I promise,” he adds, patting Porthos's arm not so casually. His hand glides down to Porthos's clenched fingers and pats them, too, until Porthos comes back to his senses and unclench his fist.

 

Aramis is still chuckling.

 

“To my defense, I was born and raised in Spain. It takes more than a couple of years in Paris to change sides.”

 

“You're not French?” Porthos finally asks, surprised by the new piece of information. Disappointed when the warm hand leaves his own. Aramis runs it in his hair, the curls shake a little and Porthos watches his face light up.

 

“Nope.”

 

“You could have fooled me. You've got no accent.”

Aramis looks and sounds so cheeky right now that all Porthos wants to do is grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. It doesn't matter what football heresy he's committing. There are more important and urgent things than a championship.

 

“One of my many talents.”

 

“Which include?”

 

Aramis is leaning impossibly closer, so close Porthos can feel his breath on his cheek, but when he talks he can't hear anything. The new karaoke singers are killing their Muse song, killing the lyrics _and_ the tune and it's such a raucous he wonders how people can enjoy it.

 

“I've mastered several French trends. I'm really good at....” His lips are so close to Porthos's ear that when they move, they touch his skin and he can't help but growl a little, low in his throat. Aramis seems delighted by the noise. “Really, really good at complaining.”

 

Porthos glares at him, glares at Aramis's smug face, how he's satisfied with the joke he just made. Aramis takes one long sip of his beer as he sits back on the booth. Porthos scoots next to him, invades his space as much as the other did before.

 

“I'll show you other French stuff which are far better.”

 

“I can't wait.”

 

Aramis is daring him to come closer, looking at him intently from behind his lashes and the rim of his glass. He could look into Porthos's dark eyes all night long because he's thrilled by the desire in them.

 

People cheer around them once more when the song is over and Porthos shakes his head, takes advantage of the short respite and relative quiet in the room.

 

“These dudes really don't know how to sing. That was horrible.”

 

“See? My point exactly. Always complaining!”

 

Except this time, Porthos reacts to the teasing differently and effectively closes the gap between their faces. Aramis yelps a little in surprise, even if he really shouldn't be. One of his hands close on Porthos's jacket and presses him closer.

 

The kiss is rough and fast. Too fast. It's over too soon for Aramis's liking so he keeps clinging on the other. He goes back for second and Porthos lets him.

 

Someone is singing a song from The Lion King behind him, rather well, he has to admit.

 

Aramis nips on his lip, brings him back to what is important for the moment. Porthos groans when the hand on his jacket strokes his chest, which is a bit indecent considering they're in public.

 

“Now, I was told _this_ is a proper French kiss,” Aramis declares, all cheeky smile and excited eyes. Porthos has to agree.

 

“You've been told correctly.” It takes some time to catch his breath, which isn't helped by the hand still on his chest. Aramis seems to have no intention of stopping, not that Porthos is complaining.

“I told you, I'm talented.”

 

And then, he winks, actually _winks_ at him. Porthos can hardly believe this man. He knows next to nothing about him because all they've been doing is teasing and flirting each other. And yet, he would go back for more. He wants to go back for more.

 

Bless Athos for choosing such remarkable models.


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis is still clinging on to Porthos's neck after he has demonstrated how much he has mastered French kissing. Porthos isn't complaining at all. The way Aramis's lips suck on his ear and his earring is making him all hot and bothered on the booth. He can't help hissing a little when he feels the tip of the other's tongue on his skin. 

Porthos knows better than to moan too loud in the pub, even though given the noise and the music, he wouldn't be heard. He keeps Aramis close to him, one arm around his waist, clutching his shirt and his fingers rubbing through the fabric. 

He's pleased to hear the low gasp coming from Aramis at this. It's only an encouragement to continue. 

If he could, Aramis would climb on Portho's lap, would get better access to all the hot flesh of his neck and the small spot of chest he can glimpse down the collar of Porthos's shirt. But then, he isn't sure it would be appreciated by the owners of the establishment. 

So he settles for worshipping and tasting as much of what is available to him. One of his hands gets tangled in Porthos's hair, a soothing and calm sensation compared to how his lips glide, nibble and bite, just a little bit at first. And when Porthos tilts his head and seals Aramis's lips with his, Aramis actually whimpers in delight at the tongue in his mouth, gladly lets it in. 

Porthos feels like he would easily lose control with that man, so open, so ready and obviously so in sync with what he desires. The hand he's been rubbing over Aramis's waist moves lower, rubs the other's thigh roughly. 

Aramis's cry is muffled by their kiss, which only picks up pace. It's getting a bit sloppy, they're fighting for air when they eventually have to part. He's flushed, so is Porthos, but they're also smirking. 

"You were right," Porthos concedes, watching Aramis intently as his hand keeps on rubbing, so close to his groin that Aramis is panting. It's difficult for him to focus. He wouldn't change a thing. 

"About?" he manages to ask. He lets go of Porthos's hair, much to the other's disappointment, to reach for his forgotten beer and takes a big sip. 

"You _are _talented."__

__Aramis grins once more, returns his fingers to Porthos's neck, rubs the back of it. He presses closer to his side, their legs touching, no space between them at all._ _

__He briefly glances around, content to realize nobody is paying them any mind. Still._ _

__"You have only seen the tip of it."_ _

__"Or have I?"_ _

__Porthos is clouded by desire and excitement and clearly not thinking straight before talking. It takes a few seconds for Aramis to understand. He cocks his head, and then snorts when he gets it._ _

__"That was a terrible one!"_ _

__"I know...Got you to laugh, though, which is a nice sound."_ _

__"Now, don't get all cheesy on me." Later, maybe. Aramis agreed to the drinks and all that followed because he's extremely attracted to Porthos. The attraction is mutual. They'll worry about feelings another time._ _

__"Yeah, not the task at hand, you're right. So....what else have you got?"_ _

__Porthos brushes his lips to Aramis's, the hand he has on his thigh moves to his ass, pushes him closer. Aramis comes willingly, their legs hook under the table._ _

__"So many, many wonderful tricks but I fear most of them would ban you from that pub. And I'd hate for that to happen."_ _

__Porthos can only agree. Yet, his fingers dip underneath Aramis's shirt, catch the hot and smooth skin there._ _

__"Can't you tell me instead?"_ _

__"I'd rather show you."_ _

__Porthos finally gets his payback as his companion puts his hand on his jeans, fingers trailing up and down his thigh. He has to close his eyes at the sensation. It seems to him that he's ready to combust. He's dying to take some clothes off._ _

__His brain is somehow foggy so it's rather difficult to make a decision for what is to follow. And all his efforts are completely annhilated once Aramis gropes him through his jeans, his fingers closing on his groin and white spots of ectasy appearing behind his eyelids._ _

__So the decision is made for him._ _

__"Come on," Porthos urges, downing the remainder of his beer, waiting quite patiently in his current situation for Aramis to finish his._ _

__It's cool and windy in the street. A relief after all that heat inside the pub._ _

__Aramis breathes out loudly, takes out a cigarette and lights it._ _

__"Do you want one?" he offers Porthos. He refuses, shakes his head. "I live two subway stations away from here, by the way," he adds once he's checked his phone._ _

__There's nothing subtle about it, even though Aramis is acting as casual as ever._ _

__"Would you invite a stranger into your house?"_ _

__"I wouldn't really call you a stranger. Even if, it's true that I do believe you know more about me than I do about you. Crash course?"_ _

__Porthos snorts, has to bury his hands in his pockets so he won't reach out for Aramis and push him against a wall for another kissing session._ _

__"I'm 30. I own a gym. I love dogs and I hate cucumber. When I was younger, I wanted to become a paleontologist because of _Jurassic Park _. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I like reading. More?"___ _

____"Nope. You had me at the loving dogs part."_ _ _ _

____Aramis grins, motions for the other to come to him. Porthos does as he's asked._ _ _ _

____Their kiss smells like tobacco this time, and Porthos still comes back for more, slides one hand in the back pocket of Aramis's jeans. He pulls him towards his body until they're pressed together and the apparent erection in his pants brushes Aramis's._ _ _ _

____Porthos has no idea who moans the loudest._ _ _ _

____"You've been granted access to my house," Aramis decides, has to stop grinding against Porthos to get moving._ _ _ _


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis is fumbling with his house keys. There's light in the hallway and he's a bit out of breath after having climbed the four flights of stairs to his apartment. But the main distraction is Porthos. 

He's standing right behind him, one hot hand on his stomach, almost pinning him to the front door. His mouth is on the back of his neck, kissing and nibbling. It makes Aramis weak in the knees, he has to close his eyes everytime Porthos's fingers brush the top of his jeans. 

Aramis is panting after only a few minutes, a sound that Porthos comes to like very much, almost as much as the feeling he gets when Aramis pushes back against him, strains and drops his head on Porthos's shoulder. 

"Now, Porthos, you'll have to stop or I'll never get this done." It comes out in short gasps, isn't convincing at all because Aramis never wants him to stop. Neither does Porthos. 

"I've waited in the subway and in the street. That's long enough."

His lips touch Aramis's ear when he speaks, distracts him for a while from the dexterous fingers working on the belt holding Aramis's jeans. 

Then there's a loud moan of pleasure and surprise coming from Aramis and Porthos hisses, low in his throat. His hand is hot against Aramis's wet briefs. He stops trying to unlock the door. 

"You want me stop now?" Porthos asks, growls and Aramis shakes his head, reaches behind him to grab Porthos's hair, holds on to it. 

"Absolutely not, but it'd be a real buzzkiller if a neighbour was to walk in on this."

"Why does it sound like that's something that's already happened to you?"

Aramis rocks his hips one more time and despite the sparks that Porthos's touch sends all through his body, he turns around. He throws his arms around the other's neck, kisses him right on the mouth to make up for the loss of feeling in his pants. 

"Because it has." He smirks in between kisses. 

Porthos backs him against the door, not gently and they're indeed making too much noise as a thud echoes around them. He doesn't really care. Instead he takes control of Aramis's mouth. 

He's too hot in his clothes, too tight and for a second it bothers him, until Aramis raises one leg and wraps it around his waist. Porthos feels like he's about to combust and clearly, they could finish right there on the doorstep with an audience and it'd be the same for him. 

Then all of a sudden, he lets go of Aramis, looks at him, flushed and panting. Porthos feels about the same except Aramis's shirt is half-unbuttoned, his belt is undone and his pants are half-opened. 

"Open the damn door." 

Aramis loses no time doing as he's told. It's dark in the apartment, it's smaller than Porthos's and there are so many books all over the place when Aramis eventually turns on a small light and Porthos can get his bearings. 

"Sorry, I was studying earlier," Aramis apologizes as they cross the small living area which leads to the bedroom. Porthos follows dutifully, drops his jacket on the couch. He watches Aramis gather his school stuff, books and notebooks and pens and pencils and dictionaries all the while managing to kick off his shoes. 

"There, all tidy," he says triumphally after the bed no longer looks like a library exploded on it and it's only awaiting them. 

There's a big smile on his face as he turns around to beckon Porthos closer. He never has to because the other is standing right there. He smiles, too, takes the final step towards Aramis who bites his lip and almost adverts his eyes to evade the lusty look thrown at him. 

"Good, because I'm in the mood for a different study session."

Porthos's hands on his hips are firm but they push him ever so lightly so that Aramis is sat at the edge of the bed. His eyes land on the front of Porthos's jeans and this time, he licks his lip when he takes in the buldge he's responsible for. 

Fingers brush it, too slow and gentle for Porthos's liking. But Aramis seems to know perfectly well what he's doing as he grins up at him. 

"We have all the time in the world now."

"Still."

Porthos pushes on Aramis's chest, hears the chuckle when his head drops on the bed and he's lying there, gorgeous, sexy and observing Porthos who takes off his shoes and his pants in one smooth motion. 

Aramis breathes out, admires the view. 

"Come on," he orders and grabs the front of Porthos's shirt when he seems to be taking too long to lie down on the bed next to him. 

There's too much teeth and eagerness in their kiss, Aramis clings on the hair at the back of Porthos's neck, tugs on it. It makes Porthos squirms. 

He rolls on his side, rubs against Aramis's thigh and starts to rock his hips. For the time being, it's not even a problem that Aramis is still fully clothed. 

Porthos trails open-mouthed kisses along Aramis's jaw down to his collarbone where he stops. Aramis is panting and pushing Porthos's head impossibly closer. He never wants him to stop sucking there. 

"I'm getting all...," Aramis pants, finds it difficult to focus on what he wants to say. "You're..."

He moans at the fingers dipping once more underneath his waistband and reaching inside his underwear. Porthos's hand is nothing but cold, but as soon as they barely brush his cock, Aramis struggles to not cry out. 

His own hand lands on Porthos's ass, feels the skin inside his boxers. Porthos hisses, rocks his hips faster. 

"I'm going to....make a mess in my pants," Aramis succesfully manages to say between moans of pure ecstasy. He can hardly keep his eyes open, but it would be a shame to miss the glorious look of pleasure on Porthos's face. 

His eyes are shining with excitement when he opens them and finds Aramis staring at him, curls stuck on his forehead with sweat.

"So soon?"

"What can I say, you're really quite an expert."

Porthos snorts. A shudder runs down his spine, the result of Aramis's fingers trailing up and down his back, feather touches. He wants to take off his shirt, as well. 

As a matter of fact, they should both be naked.

Porthos smiles wickedly, strokes Aramis's cock, brushes his thumb on its wet tip and then lets go completely. 

Aramis whines, tries to find some flesh to grind against. 

"Off with your clothes then."


	6. Chapter 6

For someone who didn't like to be teased a few minutes earlier, Porthos sure takes his sweet time stripping Aramis off of his clothes. His fingers are so tantalizing slow on his chest that Aramis can barely keep his eyes open, let alone sit quietly on the bed. 

He wants to see everything, though, wants to see the lusty look of determination on Porthos's face, the way he smiles crookedly up at him. One of his hands is still rubbing Aramis's groin through his briefs and while it's a very appreciable sensation, Aramis would prefer to have the other's attention entirely focused on his shirt so he would be naked faster. Then, he could help Porthos out. 

After what seems forever, hot fingers finally reach the soft skin of Aramis's stomach and he moans, loudly, freely. He reaches up until he finds hot lips and bites so hard that Porthos growls.

Porthos grabs a firm hold on his waist, pins him down on the mattress, rolls on top of him. A shiver runs down Aramis's spine as he pushes his hips up, meets Porthos' and continues, not caring that he's still wearing his jeans for the time being. 

The denim does wonderful things to Porthos's body though. Even if he has his underwear on, he has a difficult time catching his breath or seeing clearly everytime their erection brush together. 

It's made all the more complicated once Aramis decides to wrap his legs around Porthos' waist, plants his feet on his ass, so flexible and body so slender that Porthos wants to kiss every part of it. 

His eyes roll back but he struggles to keep them open, to concentrate on Aramis's face, how excited and how much he seems to be enjoying this. 

"I thought...you didn't want to make a mess," Porthos mumbles, thumbs brushing the waistband of the other's underwear, their lips still touching. 

"It'd be a sacrilege to let you go now." 

To prove his point, Aramis brings him down on him, arches his back until he's somehow sitting, Porthos straddling him. It's an awkward position and yet they're still touching, pressed together and Porthos hisses as Aramis starts to suck on his neck. 

He buries his hands in the silky curls on Aramis's head, traps him against his shoulder. His cock is throbbing and it might be a sacrilege, he still stands up. 

"What..."

Before Aramis has time to understand what's happening, Porthos has grabbed his pants and pulled them down. Aramis chimes out of his shirt and tee-shirt. 

"There, all better," Porthos decides before he gets back on the bed, lies next to Aramis and lets his fingers roam on his chest. He enjoys watching Aramis shudder under his touch, likes seeing his hard nipples and when he flicks one with his tongue, Aramis has to throw his head back. 

"Fuck!"

"Yeah, that too," Porthos agrees, moves on to Aramis's left nipple and sucks on it, tastes the sweat there. 

His voice is so husky, it turns Aramis on even more than he already is. His brain shuts off, stops wondering why he's doing such things with someone he's only known for a day. 

Instead, all he can think of is Porthos's skilled tongue, the way his hands hold him down, brush his sides, go up and down his chest. 

Aramis has very little self-control left so his hand moves to his underwear on its own. They're gone in a flash and he hisses when his fingers eventually close on his cock, stroking, bringing him so close to pleasure so fast. 

Porthos grins at the loud moans but then tuts when he sees what Aramis is doing. 

"Having fun without me?"

"You're more than welcome to help," Aramis replies. Porthos hums against his lips, licks inside his mouth, tastes the last remains of tobacco there, swallows Aramis's gasp once his own fingers wrap around his erection. 

Aramis happily lets him take over, clutches Porthos's clothes as well as the bedcover, fails to keep his body still. 

It's a struggle for Porthos as well, who wants to continue kissing Aramis and yet also wants to see Aramis's cock, trapped in his fist, willingly and completely. 

It's a wonderful feeling, the flesh so warm and soft. So wet. 

"You're very sexy like that," Porthos eventually whispers as he takes a look down and then up at Aramis's slack face, eyes half-closed and mouth open. He hardly has enough breath left to chuckle. 

He rocks his hips to match Porthos's steady but still too slow rhythm, tries to get him to speed up. 

And then, Porthos's tongue is back on his nipples, sucking vigourously, eagerly, heating his skin up even more than it already is. Aramis is clouded with excitement. 

A sharp cry of ecstasy echoes around them when Porthos's fingers moves from Aramis's cock to his balls, touch them so softly. His fingernails scrap Aramis's stomach, go down to the top of his thigh before returning to his groin. 

Aramis spreads his legs wider, just enough to give Portho's more room to please him and he forgets everything but the hands on him, the wet tongue, the fingers moving so quickly and skillfully. 

All it takes is one more stroke of his cock, then Porthos unexpectdly bites on his nipple, sharp and quick, and Aramis comes all over his hand. 

Porthos swallows the louder cries, keeps on stroking slowly until Aramis's orgasm subsides and his body stops spasming. 

"Don't," Aramis whispers once he can open his eyes again, only to see Porthos about to wipe his sticky fingers on his shirt. "I'll get you something."

"I can wait a minute."

"Oh, absolutely." 

Aramis smiles lazily up at him, doesn't let him go too far away because he feels so good and relaxed that he wants to kiss Porthos until the end of the night. 

"So....does it live up to your expectations?" he asks as he notices Porthos's eyes racking down his naked body, taking in the sights. 

"It already lived up to my expectations yesterday."

"You wouldn't be here if it hadn't."

"Right. And...what I hadn't seen is as pretty." 

Porthos winks at a satisfied Aramis who stretches by his side. Aramis looks him up and down, lingers on the flushed cheeks, the sharp breaths puffing in and out of Porthos's chest, the clothes he's still wearing and the obviously painful erection in his boxers. 

Aramis sits up in bed, blood rushes to his head and leaves him more light-headed than he already is. 

"Someone's been good tonight."

He strokes his hand over Porthos's shirt, gathers the fabric up so he can get access to the skin underneath. 

"Always."

Porthos smiles cheekily, grinds against Aramis's thigh. 

"Good boys must be rewarded then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porthos is next, do not fear.


	7. Chapter 7

It's quiet in the room, except for heavy breathing and the sounds of sloppy kisses. Aramis pushes his tongue as far as he can inside Porthos's mouth, savors every second of it, his hot and sticky body pressed so tightly to the other's. 

Porthos enjoys the feeling of Aramis straddling him, naked flesh pressed to his own thighs, hands enclosing his face, holding it in place as if it was the most precious thing in the world for Aramis. 

There's a hum from Aramis as Porthos rubs his thighs, moves to his ass and proceeds to trail his fingers higher up his back. He might be slowly coming back from his high, all his senses are heightened by his pleasure and his skin is so sensitive. His hips rock unvoluntarily against Porthos's groin. 

Porthos growls in approval, grinds back, tightens his hold on Aramis's shoulders. Fingernails dig there. 

His shirt is mostly unbuttoned by now, from all the rolling around and tugging at it that's been happening and yet, Aramis struggles to get the bottom ones undone. 

There's a sense of urgency in his actions, because Porthos has made him feel so good, he's still making him feel so good that he wants to reciprocate, as fast and as thoroughly as he can. 

When he groans again, it's in frustration. 

Porthos stills Aramis's hands, wraps them in his own. 

"Hey, there's no need to rush." It's a whisper against their lips which breaks their kiss. Porthos compensates the loss by kissing the corner of Aramis's mouth. He's staring right at him, wonder in his eyes. But he stops trying to take his clothes off. 

"Weren't you the one with your hand down my pants even in the hallway?"

"Definitely me."

"And weren't you the one who couldn't wait to get rid of your clothes?"

"Absolutely, but...I've seen you in all of your glory now and it truly is magnificent."

Porthos cannot be sure whether the rosy cheeks are a consequence of what he just said or simply that Aramis is flushed from his orgasm. The sheepish and embarassed look on his face is nice nonetheless. 

"So....I want to be able to enjoy it as long as I can."

He says it in a low voice which makes Aramis shiver and his hips rock once more. Porthos stifles his moan, wants to stay in control of himself. He drops his lips to Aramis's shoulder, licks a bit of sweat there, nibbles at the skin before moving from the side of his collarbone up to his neck. 

It tickles Aramis a little, but it's the best kind of sensation. He throws his head back, gives Porthos better access to do whatever he wants. His fingers don't even resume their previous job when Porthos releases them to return to Aramis's back. 

He makes sure he touches every inch of it, warms his skin so much more than it already is. Aramis might have already come minutes earlier, each touch brings him closer to arousal once again. 

"Besides, taking your time can be so much better," Porthos whispers again, lips right below Aramis's ear, the tip of his tongue brushing his skin. His hands trail down the other's thighs until he finds Aramis's hands, clutched by his sides. 

Carefully, slowly, Porthos pries them open, laces their fingers together. It's a very intimate position and he relaxes his back, lets himself sink against the headboard. 

Aramis smiles up at him, gives their hands an encouraging squeeze. Porthos smiles back, reaches up to capture Aramis's lips in another lingering kiss. 

He's been heard, as they move slowly, because there is indeed no hurry and Aramis only breaks away after a thumb caresses his hand lightly, back and forth, a soothing gesture. He's breathing more easily now. 

"You want it slow, that's what you're saying?"

Porthos nods. Aramis grins. 

"I can do slow."

He mirrors Porthos's actions from earlier, abandons his mouth for his neck, sucks along the line of his shirt. He rocks his hips so carefully, barely touching Porthos's groin anymore. When he speaks again, his lips vibrates against Porthos's skin, make his heart speed up. 

"I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, though."

"Try me," Porthos gasps out. 

"Very well."

Aramis's hands dip inside Porthos' open shirt. He relishes in finding nothing but hot and hard skin underneath it. 

It's quiet in the room again so Porthos almost surprises himself as he cries out at the slim fingers grazing his stomach, circling his nipples, hardly any pressure and only the touch of a feather. He throws his head back, hits the headboard, but doesn't feel any pain. 

His cock throbs with each of Aramis's move, it strains in his boxers after he repositions himself on Porthos's lap. 

"My, you're quite something," Aramis marvels when the shirt is finally undone and he can admire Porthos's chest. He traces the muscles, doesn't forget one, from the abs to the arms. 

Porthos would chuckle and find a clever come-back if he wasn't entirely submerged by the hot desire building inside of him, crawling under his skin, going straight between his legs. 

Aramis seems so careful now, so in control, which he actually likes. He has to smirk when it's Porthos who seeks a much-needed friction that he isn't providing just yet. 

Now that he isn't clouded by his own urgent desire as he was before, Aramis can appreciate the dark body he has at his disposal for all that it is, bulky and silky, a bit sweaty. It's as if he's running his fingers on satin. 

He licks his lips, bends his head to give even more attention to Porthos's nipples, rolls his tongue around one, over and over again. There's no steady pattern to what he's doing, which seems to agree with Porthos, considering the loud moans he's making. 

Aramis cannot get tired of what he tastes, never wants to and sucks hard, bites a little. Porthos bucks his hips. 

"Jesus, Aramis! Do that again..."

He complies happily, bites down once more, groans at the fingers digging in his ass, keeping him there and begging him to move. 

Aramis does so, yet still too tantalizing slow to do more than torture Porthos. It's a good sort of torture, but he feels like he is about to implose, almost cruches Aramis's body against his. 

He groans, can't decide if he prefers the tongue swirling around his nipples, going from one to the other, the teeth lightly scratching his chest in the process, or the wandering hand, tracing a path along his side, from his navel to the waistband of his underwear. 

Not touching, never going below, barely grazing the elastic band. 

"You're killing me," he pants, running his fingers through Aramis's curls. Aramis hums with pleasure, almost a purr. 

"You brought it on yourself."

"I know, and I like it a lot, but you're still killing me." He's amazed he managed to speak that much, given the sharp breaths he has to take. Aramis looks out of breath, too, as he raises his head to look at him in the eye. 

It's quite a sight to behold, that gorgeous man in his bed, enjoying being touched that much, letting Aramis take care of him, and it turns him on. He can feel himself getting hard again. 

"Should I still go slow?" he asks, fingers waiting on Porthos's waist, tugging on his underwear. Porthos glimpses down, notices Aramis's cock between them, clean and raw, and yet slowly showing how aroused he is. 

"Oh, _I _can take it, but you..."__

__Aramis doesn't take offense in the teasing. Instead, he shuts Porthos up with his mouth, sucks on his bottom lip while he lets his fingers play with his hard nipples. He gives Porthos the friction he needs, rolls his hips, more forcefully than earlier but still as slowly._ _

__Porthos sees more stars behind his closed eyelids, grinds against Aramis's, pushes his hips up to meet the other's, and then is totally shocked when Aramis moves over. It leaves him cold and empty, nothing to touch._ _

__"On your back, soldier," Aramis orders. Porthos does as he's told. His boxers are off in one swift motion, leaving him completely naked. He stays silent while Aramis takes him in, licks his lips and then looks back at him with dark eyes._ _

__"Like what you're..."_ _

__Aramis cuts him off, scrambles on top of him, crushes their lips together. Porthos cannot stop hissing once their cocks are effectively rubbing against one another, no piece of clothing in between._ _

__He doesn't really care about going slow anymore. Aramis must sense it, because his movements get wilder, faster, more eager._ _

__Porthos wraps his arms around his body, it's not gentle and there might be too much pressure. Aramis doesn't complain, rejoices in being so close._ _

__"You're a gorgeous man," he gasps, hands framing Porthos's face. He can only smile back. "If only you knew...what I'd do to you..."_ _

__"I want to know," Porthos growls, the words and everything that lies behind them arousing him much more than he already is._ _

__There's a devilish smile illuminating Aramis's face. He keeps rolling his hips, slower, gentler, catching his breath. Porthos finds it the best kind of supplice. He's squirming a little underneath Aramis, wants so badly to find his release._ _

__His hands fall to the bed as Aramis slides down his body, kisses his way from his jaw, scruffy and rough to the smooth skin of his chest. Porthos shivers at the wet pressure on his stomach, bucks his hips._ _

__"Aramis, fuck!" he gasps when the other wraps his fingers arouns his cock, as gently as possible and with such pressure that it makes him go bling for a second._ _

__"Maybe later," Aramis agrees, his breath fanning over Porthos's thigh, thumb brushing the tip of his cock, spreading wetness all over it. He steadies Porthos's hips, strokes leisurely, enjoys how big and full his cock is, loves how it twitches under his touch._ _

__"That all right?" he asks for good measure, dropping kisses on Porthos's thighs and his lower stomach._ _

__"Fuck yeah, it is."_ _

__Aramis still goes slow, doesn't forget that Porthos seems to get off more from not rushing things._ _

__Porthos gathers the bedcover in his fists, cannot help arching his back as soon as Aramis licks his cock, sucks on it, hums around it. He only uses the tip of his tongue, short touches that drive Porthos insane._ _

__Aramis's mouth is incredibly hot when it finally closes around him, swallows so much of him that Porthos forgets to breathe for a few seconds._ _

__He's as skilled at using his tongue for this as he was for kissing._ _

__Porthos buries one hand in his hair, the other thrown across his face. If he blocks the light, if he doesn't look down, he might not make a mess too fast. One glance at what Aramis is doing would be the end of him, he's sure of it._ _

__"You need to...go faster," he manages to ask. His voice is urgent et so demanding, almost pleading. Aramis is pleased with it._ _

__His fingers close at the base of Porthos's cock, stroke and rub while his tongue takes care of the rest, licks and sucks, over and over again. Porthos tastes amazing down there as well and he appreciates the hand on his head not pushing him too hard._ _

__"I told you you couldn't take how slow I could be," he teases after he has to breathe a bit and so repositions himself next to Porthos. The other can simply growl and press on the back of his neck._ _

__Aramis strokes Porthos's cock, fondles his balls, likes the way his body reacts to every single one of his touches, how sensitive he is._ _

__He bends his head again, drops one small kiss on the tip of his cock, sucks alongside it, licks his balls, caresses them with his tongue and Porthos can give no warning._ _

__He cries out, grabs a handful of dark curls to hold on to, and comes all over Aramis's hair._ _

__"My God," he's panting when he comes down from his orgasm, feels like he is floating around in the room. "Never do that again. I mean...yes, definitely do it again, but...warn me beforehand. Aramis, wow..."_ _

__Aramis isn't upset in the slightest. It's nothing that a good shower can't fix. The look of pure ecstasy on Porthos's face, right on his bed, because of something he's done to him, that's all he's asking for._ _


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis lies down on the mattress, quiet and smiling smuggly, very pleased with the proceedings. His hands are flat on his stomach, his eyes are fixed on the ceiling, straight above him. He has no desire to move for the time being. He can feel himself sink on the bed, sink around his current bliss and that's enough for now. 

Porthos stretches by his side, hums with delight, skin tingly. He is so relaxed that he believes he could fall asleep on the spot. As he closes his eyes for a second, to bask in his own pleasure, all he can hear is Aramis's soft breathing somewhere on his left. 

He fears that if he speaks, it will break the incredible bubble they have just created around themselves, and even if it has to happen at one point, Porthos isn't eager to hurry the inevitable. 

Aramis's voice is strangely shy when he eventually speaks up.

"I don't...usually do this."

"Well, you're really good at it," Porthos reassures him, opens his eyes lazily and turns his head so he can catch a glimpse of Aramis. He's chewing on his lip, a look of wonder on his face before it lights up. 

"Oh, no. Not that. Blowjobs, _that _I do quite a lot. I meant, bringing people home so quickly."__

__He's hesitant as he observes Porthos who props himself up on a elbow, looks down at him. Fingers trail down Aramis's arm, carefully, softly. He sighs out._ _

__"It wouldn't matter if you did," Porthos calms him once more, giving him a quick kiss on the mouth, then a second and a third. Aramis makes him chuckle as he whimpers against his mouth, closes one hand around Porthos's arm and enjoys their closeness._ _

__After all the urgency and frenzy that has been taking place, it's relieving and actually rather nice to take their time and get to know each other's bodies and reactions without being clouded by arousal._ _

__"I just don't want you to think that..."_ _

__"I would never judge you," Porthos cuts him off, presses against warm lips, shivers at the hand rubbing his back. He hooks his leg with Aramis's, traps him underneath him._ _

__"I don't usually do this, either," he adds. "Getting in bed with the first man who catches my eye, that is."_ _

__"That makes us quite special, then." Aramis cannot help but smile in relief._ _

__"I also I'm not in the habit of stumbling upon naked men in my best friend's apartment."_ _

__Porthos grins, kisses Aramis one last time, a longer kiss, tongue licking inside the other's mouth. Aramis has a rather strong hold on him when they part._ _

__"Is it my fault then?"_ _

__"Absolutely not. I'd thank you for it, but I think I already did."_ _

__"Oh, yes."_ _

__Porthos is content with the answer, happy that Aramis doesn't seem troubled by what he could think of his morals anymore. He stretches under Porthos's touch, purrs out a bit as he runs a lone finger along his jaw, the side of his forehead, smoothes the damp hair there._ _

__"I should get you something for your hair," he decides, remembering the mess he made earlier. Aramis protests as he tries to move away from him._ _

__"Hand me that towel I gave you. It'll do for now."_ _

__After his hair is somehow clean of come, Aramis throws the towel away across the room and reaches for the cigarettes on his bedside table._ _

__"Do you want one now?"_ _

__"I don't smoke, thank you."_ _

__"Right...," Aramis remembers, studies Porthos with renewed interest, lets his eyes wander the tone and glistening body. He cannot resist the urge to touch it again. "You must be into all that healthy lifestyle. Because you said you worked in a gym."_ _

__"I guess I am."_ _

__"It has nice rewards."_ _

__Porthos cocks his head at the choice of word, shudders in spite of himself as Aramis continues to trace imaginary lines on his skin, makes sure he hasn't forgotten one inch of it._ _

__"Only nice?"_ _

__"I meant....really, really, really _spectacular _rewards," Aramis corrects himself.___ _

____Satisfied, Porthos directs Aramis's fingers to his back, shows him where he likes to be caressed the best. Because he doesn't know how long he still has with this man in this room and as selfish as he is, he intends to make the most of it for as long as possible._ _ _ _

____"Does it bother you if I smoke in here?"_ _ _ _

____Porthos shrugs._ _ _ _

____"It's your place. You can do whatever you want."_ _ _ _

____It only takes Aramis a couple of seconds to light his cigarette but during this excruciating time, he isn't touching Porthos anymore. Porthos finds it unacceptable, surprises himself with his own desire there._ _ _ _

____Aramis takes one long drag, clearly enjoying it immensely. He's feeling sleepy and it will keep him awake a little longer. Sleep is out of the question as far as he's concerned._ _ _ _

____For the next few minutes, they're quiet again, Aramis alternating between smoking and kissing Porthos's skin. Rough hands are on his lower back, rubbing, kneading, trapping him. Not that he has any intention of going anywhere._ _ _ _

____Church bells ring in the distance, a reminder of how late -or in that case how _early _\- it is. Porthos sighs, more in frustration this time.___ _ _ _

______"I should get going."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Aramis whimpers, extremely against the idea. He resists the urge to pout in disappointment. Porthos looks quite like him when he raises his head._ _ _ _ _ _

______"So soon?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll miss the last subway otherwise."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Where do you live?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Close to Vaugirard."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Are you kidding me? That's like the complete opposite from here! Even if you leave now, and I'm opposed to it," Aramis says, wrapping one leg around Porthos's wait and his arms around his neck, "you might get your first subway. You'll never get the second, though."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos has to pause to consider it. He wraps his own arms around Aramis's waist and they're so considerably close, he smells tobacco with every breath he takes, as if he's the one smoking._ _ _ _ _ _

______"How come you know the Parisian subway lines more than I do?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I told you, I'm talented." To prove his point, Aramis lazily rolls his hips, reminds Porthos of what he would miss if he was to leave. "Besides, taking a cab would only rob us of so much money."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah, you're right, but..."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos needs to concentrate on what he's trying to say, because Aramis's every action is a distraction, welcome yet making him lose any rational thought._ _ _ _ _ _

______"We could have hours to ourselves."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos groans, curses his body for responding so easily to Aramis's. He curses his brain for thinking too much about it. What will it mean if he spends the night? What will it imply for the both of them? Will it change things or ruin them?_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll tell you what," Aramis brings him back to reality, one hand buried in Porthos's hair which is a rather soothing gesture, intimate and almost loving. It unsettles him. "I think you're worried about what will happen tomorrow if you stay. Am I right?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos hates that he has to agree. When he went to Athos earlier, he did hope to spend some time alone with his model, and if he's being honest, he did expect the night would end like it did, but he never worried about after. Not too much, not enough to surpass his lust for sex._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I can't say that I know how it'll go because, well, it's about the first time it's happened to me. If it makes matters better, you can sleep on the couch."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos snorts at the suggestion. His brain does settle for it, though. It's an alternative that doesn't entirely appeal to him, he doesn't particularly want to be separated from Aramis's body. And yet, it's the more reasonable one, except for the one where he goes back home._ _ _ _ _ _

______He sinks back on the bed, clutches Aramis close to him, stares at him with lusty eyes once he has finished his cigarette and bends down for a kiss._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Deal?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Deal."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Excellent."_ _ _ _ _ _


	9. Chapter 9

It's not the alarm clock in itself which wakes Porthos up. It's more the soft yet harsh curses which follow, all the groping around and the clatter in the room next door. 

There's a crack, an even louder and more pained curse, in Spanish this time, then the chirpy music stops and there's a thud in the silence. 

Porthos stretches, only opens one eye and regrets it at once. The sunlight is on his face, and he won't be going back to sleep now. So he stifles a yawn, moves from the position he was in, almost ends up on the floor. 

Aramis is still groaning and cursing under his breath in his bedroom. 

"You all right?" Porthos has to ask, just to make sure the other isn't dying on him. 

Aramis sits up in bed at the voice, half sorry to have awoken him, and half relieved he didn't sneak out during the night. He quickly gathers some clean underwear and walks to the living room, groggy and sleepy, rubbing his head. 

"The chair assaulted me."

"Is that so?" 

Porthos sits up on the couch, runs a hand over his face, shakes his head to get his bearings. Aramis is standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, half-naked and that's enough of a good morning sight to make Porthos glad he stayed the night. 

"It wanted me to be a responsible adult and wake up."

"What time is it?"

"Eight."

Porthos groans. It's been a long time since he's had to wake up that early. And he's so tired from their midnight activities. Aramis cringes at the sound, silently blames himself for it. 

"Yeah, sorry. I forgot I had to go to university this morning. It won't be the first time I missed a class, it's no problem," he adds quickly, hardly taking a breath as he sees Porthos already standing up. 

Then, he forgets what else he wanted to say, because Porthos stretches, flexes his muscles and it makes his abs pop up so much. Although it's new to him, and novelty is always attractive, Aramis doesn't believe he could one day get tired of admiring Porthos. 

"Do you want to hit the shower?" he offers timidly. He'd propose anything so that Porthos wouldn't leave too fast. "Or do you have to go?"

"No. I'm never the one who opens up. But...ah, I don't..."

The thought of a warm and long shower is something he craves right now, because he's still so very sweaty and sticky. He absolutely doesn't want to impose which, if he took some time to think about, is actually an absurd idea given that he would do anything to stall as much as possible. 

"I could make us breakfast?" Aramis suggests. "And I promise I don't eat junk food. It'd be a healthy and balanced meal."

Porthos has to smirk. He definitely has to call Athos later to thank him. 

"What's on the menu?"

"I have granola bars...that I made myself," he clarifies, when he sees Porthos frowning at the idea. His face changes in a second, from perplexed to stunned. 

"That you made?" He sounds so impressed that Aramis beams up at him, and skips, _skips _to the kitchen only to return with the proof of what he says.__

__"Whole grains, nuts, apple and a bit of chocolate just because." The tray he's holding for inspection is full of bars, almost all the same size, and they really do look delicious._ _

__It leaves Porthos a bit speechless._ _

__"You're quite the chef, then."_ _

__There's more sunshine glowing on Aramis's face than outside when he hears the compliment. It's a different face than the one Porthos has seen before, when they were flirting and clearly only interested in sleeping together. This one right after waking up, Aramis can't fake it, it's a natural one, yet as seductive._ _

__Porthos has to see if he can improve it._ _

__"That's good to know," he adds, takes a step closer. He has the excuse of looking at the baked goods to do so. It's not his ultimate goal._ _

__Aramis does smile brighter at this, at the implication behind it. The talk they must have about seeing each other again, or letting it pass as only a one time thing seems less dreadful all of a sudden._ _

__"I try," Aramis replies, the hint of a blush on his cheeks and it's just so adorable, Porthos cannot help himself._ _

__"Can I kiss you?"_ _

__Aramis takes his time to put the tray on the table._ _

__"You didn't bother asking last night."_ _

__"Well, now it's morning and I really want to. Can I?"_ _

__"I would absolutely _not _mind if you did."___ _

____So Porthos gathers an over-smiling Aramis in his arms, holds him close, hot hands on a somehow chilly skin. They're the same height, they don't press too close to one another, unconsciously leaving some space between their bodies._ _ _ _

____Everything about this kiss is different. It's slow, yet not the sort of slow that would make you squirm and want more, a lot more, faster. It sure makes Aramis want more, but in a longing way. His only desire is to keep Porthos's warm lips against his own, moving carefully, sweetly._ _ _ _

____He hums in delight at the fingers on his neck, grazing lightly. He sighs once Porthos has backed him up against a wall, simply so they won't wobble on their feet. There's no urgency and no need to do more than just taste each other, find out what the other likes._ _ _ _

____Aramis likes when Porthos rubs his shoulders gently, tugs on his hair a little, takes control of his mouth._ _ _ _

____Porthos likes how Aramis lets him take charge, how he shivers so easily, so happily, how he somehow purrs around his tongue, how he holds him safely, arms around his waist._ _ _ _

____They have to stop after a moment, for practical reasons only. Porthos realizes that he would be fine with staying in this apartment all day along, work be damned._ _ _ _

____A kiss can be all the talking they had to do._ _ _ _

____Aramis is flushed, wild curls framing his radiant smile. His eyes are shining._ _ _ _

____"So....I suppose that settles it?" he asks, hopeful. Porthos nods, bends his head a little, puts a lone curl behind Aramis's ear._ _ _ _

____"We didn't start things in the correct order."_ _ _ _

____"I don't care about that. As long as more things come after today. We'll make our own order."_ _ _ _

____"I'd like to take that shower, then," Porthos decides, relieved to the core, ecstatic and pleasantly surprised._ _ _ _

____Aramis takes him by the hand to show him the way._ _ _ _

____Porthos is thankful the other can't see his face as he grins stupidly at the gesture._ _ _ _


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis has trouble staying quietly on his spot. There is soft music playing in the studio because it helps Athos concentrate and it's actually soothing, almost as much as the rain pattering against the large windows. 

They've been working for an hour at most, and it's warm in the room, Aramis isn't cold at all. He's been asked to move into different positions and it was quite distracting from his own thoughts. But now, he must have been sitting for ten minutes and Athos isn't giving any directions anymore. 

He's deeply focused on his canvas, barely raises his head enough for his model to take a good look at it. Everything is coming together nicely, and once he will have added the multiple photographs they took on Tuesday night, Athos believes his project will be finished. 

It doesn't appear that he will achieve it today, though. Everytime Aramis squirms on his chair, remembers that he shouldn't move his arms or tap his foot, the artist in Athos sighs and has to squint to keep going in the direction he wants. 

The friend in Athos is greatly amused by the situation, though. They've exchanged civilities and a few words regarding his work, yet they've hardly talked since Aramis arrived. 

"Is there something you want to say, Aramis?" he asks, because the frown on his model's face isn't what he wants and the quicker it goes away, the better. 

"What? No. Why?"

"Can you stop frowning, then? You're supposed to be relaxed, not concerned."

"Right. Sorry." 

Aramis shifts a little on his seat, rolls his shoulders, scolds his features. He concentrates on the rain, on the rhythm of the new song, on the violin. It's a nice atmosphere, all things considered, one he will surely miss after they have finished their collaboration. 

Soon, his thoughts return to Porthos, that he hasn't seen since Thursday morning. The fact that it's only Saturday is irrelevant. So is the fact that they've texted quite a lot in the short span they've had to stay apart. And it's not as if they're dating properly. Although Aramis _believes _they are. He's pretty sure of it.__

The truth is, he's very much looking forward to seeing him later today. The awful weather dampens his mood a little, because it rules out some of the activities they could have done outdoors. Then, Aramis's face breaks into a naughty smile as he realizes that being trapped indoors isn't such a bad plan after all. 

His hands clutch the bare skin of his thighs and Athos cannot help but notice. He puts a couple of final touches to the canvas, finds the smile to be an interesting addition, and puts the paintbrush down. 

"I think that'll be all for today," he decides, standing up and handing a robe to a confused Aramis.

"Already? Didn't you say you hoped to finish this morning?"

"You don't seem into it. That's all right," he adds. Aramis looks shocked and deeply ashamed with himself. Athos blames Porthos more for the failing state of their session than he blames his model. "It's better sometimes to let a project sit for a few days before finishing it. It helps me see things more clearly."

"I'm sorry. I can try to be still. Really."

"Can you? Your head is onto something completely different today. We'll do better next week." Athos sighs, walks away to the sink to wash his brushes. There's shuffling behind him as Aramis puts on some clothes. 

He's staring at him when Athos turns around, still looking guilty. A little embarassed perhaps.

"Have you...hmm...have you talked to Porthos?"

"I have." Athos nods briefly. He's silent for a couple of seconds while Aramis holds his breath and waits for more. "He said you were great company."

Porthos did say much more on the phone, barely letting Athos remark on any of the information shared. It sounded like a superb praise of Aramis's hardly-known character and too many details than Athos desired about his excellent shape and physical qualities. 

Athos isn't interested in what his model can do with his body because it has been making it harder and harder during the morning to see it without imagining Porthos on top of it, underneath it, touching it. 

Aramis smiles brightly at the answer, ruffles his hair before checking the time. 

"He's a very fun guy."

Athos can only agree. 

"He is. It might wear you out at one point, though."

Aramis finds it hard to believe, is about to say so when there's a deafening bang on the front door and they both jump out in surprise. 

"Did you lose your key?" Athos asks Porthos once he is inside the loft. He's not even surprised that he's come. Perfect timing. 

"My hands are full." Porthos deposits the plastic bags he was holding on the kitchen counter, wipes his brow and shakes his head. Raindrops fall on the floor, trickle down his cheeks. 

"What's all this?" 

It suddenly smells wonderful inside. Athos inspects the inside of a bag, encounters warm food containers. His stomach growls. One look at the clock tells him it's actually almost one in the afternoon. 

"Nourishment for your hard work. I know you hate making food after art and had someone else cover my last front desk hour for me."

"Perks of being the boss, I suppose."

"Exactly. I hope you're hungry."

"I am!" Aramis chimes in from the open studio door. He's fully clothed, and while Porthos was prepared to smile brightly at him, it turns into a scowl when he notices his tee-shirt. 

"What's that you're wearing?" Aramis can hear the disgust on his tongue, the shock and aversion. It's not different from the reaction Athos greeted him with hours earlier. Aramis is quite pleased with his apparel. 

He strolls towards the two others, glances at Athos who busies himself with sorting out the food and setting the table. Aramis stops very close to Porthos, grinning widely. 

"I thought you might take intense pleasure in stripping me out of it later," Aramis whispers outrageously loud.

Athos rolls his eyes. 

Porthos's eyes turn darker, he licks his lips and grabs Aramis's jersey, contains his growl at the Barcelona logo on it. 

"That I would."

"And I hope you will."

"Definitely."

Athos would smash their heads together so they would get on with it. They don't seem to mind having an audience, or they may have forgotten about him, which would be difficult, given the racket he makes with cutlery, glasses, drawers and the doors of kitchen cupboards. 

"My God, will you two kiss already so we can eat?" he snaps, throwing such a dark look at Porthos that he has to laugh under the stare. 

He's still holding on to Aramis who steps impossibly closer, rests one hand on his arm. He likes how the leather feels under his fingers. He tilts his head up. 

"You heard the man," Porthos says in a chuckle. 

"And I always listen to Athos's intructions when I'm here."

Athos has to advert his eyes at the display in front of him. Aramis is hanging on to Porthos as if he was putting his very life in this kiss. It's a greedy one, it awakens all that they shared two nights beforehand, all the touches and caresses. 

Their lips are hot against one another, slightly wet, and Aramis pushes so hard, is so eager that Porthos stumbles backwards until his back hit the kitchen counter. His arms naturally wrap around the other's waist. It makes Aramis hums and sighs out with happiness. 

He's been waiting two entire days for such a chance. He intends to savor it. 

"This instruction might be the most enjoyable one he's given me," he decides after they have to breathe and behave appropriately. 

Athos doesn't acknowledge what he just said. Instead, he sits at the table, pours himself some wine and fills their plates with food.

Aramis straightens his clothes, Porthos sheds his jacket, smirks at the hungry look on Aramis's face once he sees the simple tee-shirt and the biceps he's dying to touch again. 

"'Been working out this morning. I'm starving!" Porthos exclaims, winks at Aramis who swallows thickly, sits down next to him. Their legs bump under the table, but they don't move them at all. 

Athos has no desire to be a part of what is quickly becoming a date. It's too bad they're in his apartment and he can't leave to give them some time to themselves. 

Once they're eating, though, they fall silent. Everyone appears to be indeed extremely hungry. The never-ending exchange of glances between the two others cannot be ignoted but it's bearable. It's not as obscene as their kiss was. 

"What did you do this morning?" Aramis eventually asks, because even though they spoke a bit during breakfast on Thursday and on the phone, he still knows so little about Porthos. 

"Porthos teaches zumba on Saturdays," Athos cuts in. "He's quite a talented dancer. You should ask him to show you, one of these days."

Aramis chokes on the incredible piece of information. Athos is rather satisfied with his contribution, especially as Porthos stares at him, his jaw clenched. He has to swallow his mouthful before he can add anything. 

"For real?"

"Yes. You should see all the women attending his class. It must be the most popular one at the gym."

"And who could blame them?" Porthos eventually manages to say. 

"I'm not!" There are stars in Aramis's eyes, who is marvelling at this piece of knowledge. He's suddenly feeling a lot hotter, imagining Porthos dancing around, sweaty and out of breath. 

He's gazing at him with such lust and passion that Porthos instantly forgives Athos. Porthos rubs Aramis's thigh. 

"I'll show you sometime," he promises. The anticipation makes Aramis lean closer. He's forgotten his plate and the fork in his hand. He's entirely focused on Porthos's mischievious eyes, the corners of his mouth, partly open. 

"Have some more rice," Athos steps in. It's a shrill, anything to avoid Aramis jumping on Porthos and having his way with him on the kitchen floor.


	11. Chapter 11

Athos is standing by the window, sipping on a cup of steaming coffee. It's warm in his hands, better than the cold rain he watches fall down on the street. 

"Sorry about that," Porthos says softly, stepping next to him, his own mug in hand. Athos turns his head, raises a questioning eyebrow. "About lunch and Aramis."

Athos still doesn't really understand the need to apologize. 

"Lunch was excellent and Aramis is a nice guy. I don't see the problem."

"Well, we weren't the best guests today."

Porthos only says it because he knows it's the proper thing to say after the outrageous display of affection, the kissing and glances and touching that happened in the past hour. But he regrets nothing. It's hard for him to control himself around Aramis, who he's finding more adorable and attractive by the minute. 

"Let's hope next time we eat together you can contain yourself a little more," Athos mutters, yet when Porthos looks down at him, he's smirking. 

"I'll do my best," Porthos promises, a hand on his heart. Athos shakes his head, resumes watching the weather until Aramis joins them again, this time actually wearing the shoes he never put on earlier and ready to leave. 

"When do you want me to come back again?" he asks Athos, still embarassed that they had to cut their session short because he couldn't concentrate. It's made worse by Athos's answer. 

"I'm not sure. I'll text you in a couple of days to let you know."

Aramis is turning the reply in his head while he walks down the street with Porthos. He is so ashamed to have potentially ruined what appeared to be a superb work. Perhaps he should be the one calling Athos to apologize profusely. 

"What's on your mind?" Porthos inquires because they've been silent ever since leaving the building and even though it's raining, it's slowly thinning out. Aramis is frowning and Porthos doesn't want their afternoon to start with misunderstandings and unspoken problems. 

"I...Athos couldn't do all he wanted today. I couldn't concentrate."

"Oh."

"And I feel very bad about it because...I mean, it's his job and I screwed it up. Do you think he's angry with me? Since he said he didn't know when we should meet again?"

They've reached the inside of a subway station, the floor is slippery but they're otherwise no longer soaking wet. Porthos grabs Aramis by the sleeve of his jacket, forces him to stop and to face him. Then, without warning, he pulls him close and hugs him forcefully. 

Aramis gives a little cry of surprise, but soon relaxes, breathing in. His head rests on Porthos's shoulder, and the hand on the back of his neck calms him down. 

"You didn't ruin anything. Athos usually never rushes things, he'll be okay. And I'm sorry. I assume I had something to do with you not being able to keep still." The head on his shoulder nods. "Besides, I already apologized to him for our behaviour at lunch."

Aramis cringes, pulls away to look at Porthos. He's chewing on his lip so Porthos has to give him a peck on the mouth to make him stop. 

"I have a bad influence. That was no way to act in your best friend's apartment."

"It takes two of us to do what we did and I don't mind. We'll get better at controlling our...pulsions in the future."

Aramis's face lights up at the choice of words, at the promise they hold. 

"And I'll buy him some scotch. It's a safe way to calm him down."

"I can bake a great apple pie with vodka and bourbon in it, if it's any help."

Porthos marvels at the culinary and cooking skills of Aramis, gazes at him hungrily, both for the food and for him. He doesn't ask the permission to kiss Aramis this time. 

Instead, he simply grabs him by the waist, tilts his head down and captures cold lips with his own. Aramis does whimper a little at the touch, excited and delighted, thumbs brushing the nape of Porthos's neck, playing with wet hair. 

Aramis's mouth is soft and hot, so open. Porthos doesn't have to take charge of anything because it's already been surrendered to him and he loves it. Aramis hums around the tongue circling his, the way it teases, so slowly and wonderfully. 

He hates having to stop it. 

"We're going to be late," he explains once he steps away from Porthos, takes his hand as if it goes without saying. Porthos licks his lips, tastes Aramis there, the tobacco which is quickly becoming his trademark smell. 

He follows dutifully, clutches Aramis's fingers in his own.

An hour later, Porthos finds himself safely away from rain in a small gym. He's sitting on the bleachers, checking his phone while being on the look out to see when Aramis will reappear from the locker room. 

He's never seen real fencing other than on TV, and it isn't even something he would think of watching. He's looking forward to seeing Aramis practice this afternoon, wonders how he looks wearing his equipment. 

He soon realizes he looks as good in the white pants and protection than he imagined. It makes a stunning constrast with his unruly and sleek black hair. 

Aramis waves quickly once he spots Porthos, who chuckles but still returns the sweet gesture. Then, he watches him put on his funny helmet, foil in hand and starts to warmp up. 

Every single one of his movements is extremely graceful yet on point, focused and delivered with perfect fluidity. Porthos finds it quite impressive and agreeable to watch. 

He's rather engrossed in Aramis and the multiple talents he keeps on discovering when someone sits down next to him. 

"I'm Constance," the woman says, holding a hand out for him to shake. He stares at her in surprise, still grabs her hand. 

"I'm d'Artagnan's girlfriend," she explains. The new information does nothing to help him. He remains clueless, a frown on his face. 

"He's the one training with Aramis," she adds. 

"Oh, right. Of course, sorry. I'm Porthos. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you indeed." She returns his smile, sets out to watch her boyfriend practice for a few minutes before she has to wipe her long hair away from her face to talk more to her new companion. 

"I've never seen you around before."

"That'd be because it's my first time here."

"I figured. Are you Aramis's boyfriend?" she asks bluntly. Porthos doesn't know how to answer. He cannot answer the question honestly. He doesn't know where they clearly stand. 

"I met him on Tuesday?" he ventures. Being Aramis's boyfriend is something he may enjoy, and it's quickly where they are heading, but still. 

_They only met four days ago. _Porthos has to shake his head at how fast everything is going. He doesn't mind one bit, is loving every second of it, but it makes him dizzy to realize their situation.__

__Constance nods, then shakes her head._ _

__"Is it his idea of a first date? That's terrible." The way she says it, like a mother displeased with her child, tells Porthos he must have met a rather close friend._ _

__"I insisted on it."_ _

__"Well, in that case, that explains why he's showing off so much."_ _

__"Is he?"_ _

__"Oh, yes. See how far his arm swings and how wide his steps are? He'd never do that during a regular practice. My poor d'Artagnan must be sweating underneath it all."_ _

__Porthos observes the moves more closely. It's really a sight to behold, and he cannot imagine the hours it must have taken to master them all, to be able to move so easily and smoothly in spite of the weapon and the equipment._ _

__He especially enjoys how the tight pants fits around his ass._ _

__"How long have you known Aramis?"_ _

__Constance considers the question for a while, her eyes still on her boyfriend. _Their _boyfriends?___ _

____"A couple of years? It must have been around the same time he moved to Paris. He's a great guy and a very close friend," she adds._ _ _ _

____"So I better not hurt him?"_ _ _ _

____She smiles at Porthos's assumption, confirms it._ _ _ _

____"Exactly. You wouldn't want me to unleash my wrath on you."_ _ _ _

____"Any tips on how to avoid this?" he inquires. She cocks her head, studies him._ _ _ _

____"You don't look like a psycho."_ _ _ _

____"I'm not," Porthos swears, smiling his best charming smile._ _ _ _

____"Then be nice and patient because his enthusiasm can sometimes be overwhelming. But I promise that you will love every second of it."_ _ _ _

____Aramis and his friend finish training some time later. He's sweating more than usual when he takes off his helmet. He hopes Porthos enjoyed the show, then cringes as he sees Constance sitting next to him on the bleachers, having what appears to be a deep and interesting conversation._ _ _ _

____d'Artagnan slaps his shoulder on their way to the showers._ _ _ _

____"You wore me out. He better be worth it."_ _ _ _

____Aramis wipes his brow, empties an entire bottle of water. He's _so _thirsty. There's the edge of a smile blooming on his lips. Porthos is.___ _ _ _

______"He is."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Then hurry up before Constance ditches all your dirty secrets!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Aramis looks offended, chases him down the corridor to the locker room._ _ _ _ _ _

______The shower is more than welcome, the water trickling down his back is steaming hot, and he would have stayed under it for hours if not for the gorgeous man waiting for him at the gym._ _ _ _ _ _

______He finds him standing by himself by the entrance door. d'Artagnan has long since disappeared, cornered by Constance._ _ _ _ _ _

______Porthos takes in Aramis with his wet hair, the collar of his shirt dampened by water, his cheeks flushed and his breathing a bit erratic._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You were very impressive," he greets him, makes him smile and hold his head higher._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Thank you very much. I hope Constance wasn't too noisy."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"She was great company. She's invited us to come and have a drink with them tonight," Porthos mentions casually. Aramis's face falls because it's not how he had imagined the day would unfold. He likes his friends very much, but not today._ _ _ _ _ _

______"And do you..."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I already declined the offer. 'Said we had plans."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Aramis's eyes light up at the news. He would grin like a kid at knowing how in sync they are. Yet, he settles for being a grown-up and steps closer, grabs Porthos's jacket with both hands and brings his mouth down to his._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm starting to like how your mind works."_ _ _ _ _ _


	12. Chapter 12

So far, plans have included finding a cosy café to escape the pouring rain and Aramis is doing his best not to complain endlessly. Because it's April and it's spring so it should not be raining *that* much. It's unfair. 

Until he changes his mind. The café is crowded, it's Saturday afternoon after all, but the drinks are amazing, the baked goods as well. And he needed it after his practice. 

The company is more than wonderful, too. They have so much to talk about, so much to discover about one another. Doing things in a different order than what usually happens is surprisingly helpful. They know how they feel about the other physically. They are aware they really like having fun in bed, and nothing about their interactions outside of the bedroom is awkward. 

The conversation is quite easy, and even the rare moments of silence do not seem suffocating. Porthos has never been shy, but apparently neither has Aramis. 

He's been smiling ever since they sat down in a corner, overwhelmed by the menu and the pile of books by his side. He's answering and asking questions without a second thought, happy to share and learn. Aramis firmly intends to know as much as he can about Porthos's background, his tastes and his hobbies before the end of the day. Besides, he is certain he will remember every detail. 

Their feet are touching under the table, they touch each other's hands so often it becomes a natural gesture. 

"What about your healthy diet?" Aramis asks after Porthos tries the last piece of coconut pie in his plate. Porthos shrugs, likes the sweetness in his mouth, licks his lips on purpose, only to see Aramis's eyes lock on them. 

"You do remember that when we met I was bringing pizzas to Athos's, don't you? I like food. I just make sure I stay in shape."

"That's lucky, then. Because I love making food." 

"For me?"

Aramis says it before he can think about it. 

"Anything for you."

Porthos cocks his head, satisfied by the answer and rather enjoying the way Aramis looks: sheepish yet resolute to stay true to his words. 

"Correct answer," Porthos decides, playing with Aramis's fingers. A single touch ignites multiple reactions within Aramis and he has to swallow down some coffee to stay on track. "So...what are you making for me tonight?"

"Oh...I..."

"Unless you don't want to, of course." Porthos shrugs once more, knowing full well that he won't be denied this opportunity to return to the other's apartment. The same idea appears to cross Aramis's mind. He scrambles to come up with recipes which could be fast and yet delicious. 

That's how they find themselves in a grocery store minutes later. The sky is growing darker, it would be rather depressing if they didn't have a well-planned evening ahead of them. 

Aramis is a man on a mission as he piles things in his shopping basket, all the while balancing his heavy backpack. Porthos follows, helps how ever he can. 

"You'll be my muscles," Aramis suggests with a tinkle in his eye once the basket becomes a bit too heavy. 

"Aw, now. Don't sell yourself short. You're quite built, too. Nice bits to hang on to."

He doesn't say it so much as whispers it in Aramis's ear, a warm hand on the small of his back. Aramis flushes, hurries up to complete his grocery list. 

He does end up helping Aramis carry some of the bags upstairs because it should be illegal to live on the fourth floor without an elevator. His face is a mix of rain and sweat once he sets his burden down in Aramis's living room. 

"Today's been an impressive work out." He breathes in and out to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat. Aramis sounds as if he's coughing out a lung. Porthos makes no comment. 

"And I should hope it's not over yet." It comes out in a gasp, but Aramis winks at Porthos, telling him he's more than okay. Porthos hopes so, too. 

"I have to say, I remember being a student and living in a dump. How come you found such a great place?" 

He surveys his surroundings a little more than he did last time. He's as eager as before to be reacquainted with the bed, but he will show more patience this time around. The wooden floor looks fantastic, old and in excellent shape. He likes the prints hanging on the wall, the tall bookshelves with dozens of books. 

"I didn't do things in the right order for that, either," Aramis explains from the small kitchen where he is already setting his preparation for dinner. Porthos leans against the door frame, accepts the glass of wine offered. 

"I was really into fencing when I was younger. I mean, I still am, but not as much. I can't anymore."

"How come? You looked pretty good to me back there."

The remark makes Aramis smile.

"I was winning a lot of competitions, even world championships. I almost went to the Olympics." That impresses Porthos and he can't hide it. Aramis gets a little lost as he recounts his life story. "But then I broke my foot and that was it. I mean, I can still play, but I'll never get back to the same level."

"That sucks. Sorry."

Aramis stops staring at the bowl in his hands, shakes his head to look at Porthos. He sounds genuinely sorry and Aramis has to lean into him to give him a thank you kiss. It's so natural for him, for them, and he should be worried that everything is going perfectly well so fast, but he isn't. Not now. 

"If it hadn't happened, I might never have met you. And it was so long ago, I'm not angry anymore."

"Did fencing help to get this place?"

"Yep. I made quite some money. I told you, I was quite good."

"You still are."

They are not so much kissing as brushing their lips while they speak. Aramis's hands are flat on Porthos's chest. 

"I've never dated a student before," he considers, still giving Aramis soft kisses that are so much welcome that dinner moves to the second plan for a few minutes. "Or a fencer for that matter."

"Isn't that great? Two birds with one stone."

"Or someone who loves cooking as much as you do."

"Now, Porthos, you need to stop or it will go to my head."

"You have a pretty head, it would only improve it."

"Is the wine going to yours already?" Aramis asks, stepping away to assess the liquid in Porthos's glass. It's still almost full. He pours some for himself, sips on it slowly, hums a little in delight at the sweet taste flowing down his throat. 

Then he turns around, busies himself with ingredients. Porthos is content to just observe. Aramis doesn't need a recipe, he's as talented in a kitchen as he was at the gym. The food is in the oven in less than five minutes. 

"It needs to bake for at least one hour. Do you want to watch a movie?" It's an innocent question, so loaded, though, that Porthos snorts. 

He grabs the bottle of wine and heads for the couch. Once he's sitting, he assesses Aramis's apparel, the disgusting football jersey he's been wearing all day. 

"Sure, I'd like to watch a movie. But that shirt will have to go."

"What does my shirt have to do with a movie?"

"Come here and I'll explain it to you."

As innocent as he sounded, Aramis is pliant in Porthos's arms as soon as he sits next to him, kicks off his shoes and turns so he's facing him. 

Then he's on his back, half-lying on the couch, half-sitting. Porthos is on top of him, holding nothing back, covering him so completely and perfectly that Aramis sighs into their kiss. 

This one is greedier than earlier, even if there is no rush. There's also no one to see what they are doing, and with such freedom all the desire and passion they had to bottle up during the afternoon are unleashed. 

Porthos presses down as much as he can, groans as the leg wrapping around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. He'd only stop if Aramis told him to, and he doesn't see this happening in the near future. 

His hands clutch Aramis's waist, rub underneath the tee-shirt, graze higher. Aramis groans when rough fingers move up his chest, find his nipples and stay there for so long that he's gasping for air. 

He hates his jeans, rocks his hips, feels light-headed once Porthos does the same, isn't careful with his weight and just lets go. 

"I'm still wearing my shirt," Aramis mentions, out of breath as soon as their kiss ends for more than a few seconds. Porthos growls against his cheek, licks the side of Aramis's jaw, makes him shiver under his hands. 

Porthos has to stand up a little on the couch and the sight of Aramis, lounging so casually and relaxed underneath him, arms extended above his head and a lazy look in his eyes, it makes him so hard he feels like his pants have shrunk. 

"Now you're not."

Aramis sighs, reaches out to bring Porthos down against him once more. Hands are back on his naked chest, skin on fire. His arms are still wrapped around Porthos's neck and he keeps him trapped in his arms. 

Each time he grinds up against him, Aramis groans, feels Porthos respond to it in the same fashion. His tongue is not enough to distract him from the stretch his cock is making in his underwear and while he kisses Porthos hungrily, nips on his lip whenever he can, Aramis sits up a little on the couch. 

Two days of waiting make his movements a bit rushed. He's panting in the crook of Porthos's neck, aware that he has the same effect on the other. 

"I feel like a teenager," Aramis eventually gasps out, one hand fumbling with the button of Porthos's jeans. "Making out on a couch."

"Is it such a bad thing?" Porthos rasps, pulls away to facilitate Aramis's task, hisses at the warm hand going straight for his cock inside his pants. 

He reclines in his corner, only to have Aramis crawl on top of him. His pants are halfway down and he cannot help but moan loudly at the feeling of his cock being stroked, slowly yet thoroughly. It sends sparks straight to his heart. His head falls on the armrest, his eyes close. 

Wet teeth bite his ear, the tip of a tongue licks it, and Porthos almost comes undone at the hot whisper. 

"It's _orgasmic _." Aramis wants to see what he's doing, pushes Porthos's underwear down with his pants. The view makes his mouth water, hot memories flooding his mind. Porthos bucks his hips as fingers cup his balls, caress them like they are the most precious thing in the world.__

__The face he is making doesn't help Aramis with his own situation. He rubs himself against Porthos's leg, seeks his pleasure with the friction he finds there._ _

__"But...I could do more in the bedroom."_ _

__He trails kisses down Porthos's jaw until he reaches his mouth, gives him one long and hard kiss, pushes his tongue behind his lips, licks as much as he can._ _

__He still holds warm balls in his hand, feels Porthos shudder under his touch every time he so much as move one fingernail. He brushes his thumb over the tip of Porthos's cock._ _

__Then continues to tease him as he withdraws his hand, only to force Porthos to look at him while he sucks on his fingers, tastes Portho's intimate scent in his mouth._ _

__Before he can argue more, Aramis finds himself on his feet and led to the other room. Porthos takes care of his belt and his pants rather fast considering how aroused and dizzy he is._ _

__Aramis groans in his mouth, helps him get rid of the last pieces of clothing before they tumble on the bed._ _

__"That's better," Porthos decides. Aramis is completely naked underneath him, so hard and excited that only this sight would be enough to make him come happily. Instead, he sinks on him, and ecstatic moans fill the atmosphere._ _

__Aramis brings his hands up and down Porthos's back, fingernails dragging on the skin, making him arch up, their cocks rubbing together so much that there are stars being Porthos's eyelids._ _

__He's lost in the vision of Aramis stretching on the bed, offering so much to him. He's so hungry, but not for food anymore, as he kisses down Aramis's chest, sucks on a nipple, then on the other._ _

__Every single sound makes him harder, if that's even possible and his erection would almost be painful, but it's softened by Aramis's fingers returning to it, worshipping it slowly as it did before._ _

__Portho's mouth still busy, his own fingers scrape down Aramis's side, learn the places where it makes him shiver the most, until he reaches his thigh and clutches the skin there._ _

__It's rough but Aramis asks for more, his strokes increasing, moving to Porthos's balls, barely touching, doing more teasing than is necessary. It's such a delicious pain. Porthos bites the skin above Aramis's nipple, smirks as he yelps a bit at the sensation._ _

__"You tease, I tease."_ _

__"Who's laughing now?" Aramis huffs out, massaging the other's balls with renewed vigor, speeding up his movements so that his strokes becomes wilder, more eager, with more pressure. Porthos loses it for a few seconds, soaks Aramis's fingers with pre-come._ _

__"What about now?"_ _

__Portho regains some control with difficulty. It's enough to redirect his own hand from Aramis's thigh to his cock. The shocked gasp above his head tells him they're even._ _

__Aramis cannot remain quiet anymore. He keeps on moaning, his hips rocking up, looking for a friction that Porthos delivers happily._ _

It's too much, though, and he's aware that making out so much, touching so much, they won't be able to continue for long. 

Lost in the moment, Porthos takes advantage of Aramis's spread legs, open and inviting. His fingers travel down, circle soft balls and slightly touch his hole, waiting for a reaction. 

Aramis throws his head back, in surprise and without warning, comes all over Porthos's hand and his own stomach. It's all it takes for Porthos to find his own release. 

They're both gasping for air, sweaty, dirty as Porthos collapses on his front by Aramis's side. 

Soft fingers are in his hair. It's such a relaxing position that Porthos sighs out in happiness, opens one eye to see Aramis gazing at him. It's quiet around them, only their heavy breathing disrupting the silence. Neither of them wants to speak and break it. 

Looking at one another is actually rather intimate, natural and pleasing. 

Until the oven signals that the food is done.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been a glitch in the matrix. When I updated the previous chapter, AO3 ate the last part of scene. Given the position Aramis and Porthos were in, it was a bit unfortunate. I updated the correct version, but just in case, you may want to go back one chapter before reading this new one. 
> 
> I mean, Aramis and Porthos making out, do you need an actual excuse to read it again? ;)

Aramis stays still in spite of the disturbing kitchen appliance. The bipping stops in a couple of seconds so he returns to the blissfull state he's in. 

Porthos's short curls are soft between his fingers, and the regular pattern would lull Aramis to sleep if he was to close his eyes. Instead, he watches the dreamy look on the other's face, how his lips are slightly parted, how his breathing slows down. 

Aramis smiles at the happiness displayed for him. Porthos's hand is on his back, hot, motionless. It remains on the small of his back even when Aramis moves a little, shifts so he can face Porthos completely. 

His fingers occasionally move to the nape of his neck, similar to feather touches and in spite of how spent and content he is, it makes Porthos shiver once in a while. 

He has no idea how long they stay silent, but he feels incredibly relaxed, even if his body is cooling down so fast he will soon be chilly. Aramis's eyes haven't stared at anything else but his face ever since they came and their heads are resting so close to one another. Porthos takes his time to blink slowly to gaze at Aramis's features more intently. 

There's the scar on his forehead, old and faded, but definitely shining with sweat. He looks high, coming down from the ecstasy they've just reached. His lips are swollen, red and so full that Porthos only has to tilt his chin up to reach them. 

Most of their kisses have been so greedy in the little time they've known each other. 

Aramis opens his mouth lazily, welcomes him with everything that he has and can give; he moans, low in his throat, satisfied. His hand stays on Porthos's neck, clings to the skin there. Not in desperation to see him leave, because they're both aware that this not what will happen tonight. 

Instead of frenzy and rush, they give in to what's steadily appearing from behind all the lust and the sexual tension. This kiss is as quiet as the atmosphere in the room, but so deep and so thorough that it makes Porthos dizzy once more. 

There's no resistance on either side, Aramis has no desire to do anything but surrender willingly and Porthos's tongue searches every corner of his mouth, licks everywhere it can. 

"Aramis?" he says quietly, turning on his side so they're facing properly, still lying down on the bed, gloriously naked, but nothing worrying him. Porthos isn't even worried by the question he has to ask. 

"Yes?" Aramis sighs out, his eyes briefly closing to focus on the fingers gliding up and down his back, only ever grazing his ass and his thighs, and there's no particular immediate intention behind the movements that he cannot help but feel completely safe. 

"Am I your boyfriend?"

Aramis studies Porthos's face, the dimples which show around his small smile, the crinkles around his dark eyes, the rough aspect of his beard that he enjoys a lot. Then, he beams up at him, buries himself closer against his side. His arm moves down Porthos's back to hold him. 

"I would like that very much, yes." He lays a quick kiss to Porthos' shoulder, cannot hide how giddy the question made him. "Am I yours?" he adds, only to hear Porthos's little laugh. 

"Of course, you are."

"Good. I have to go turn off the oven," Aramis decides suddenly, still unable to stop looking at Porthos. 

There's pressure on his wrist as he tries to sit up. Porthos pulls him down on him, wraps his arms around his waist. Aramis only complains for good measure. 

"But the food will burn and then we'll starve."

"One more minute. I quite like having you naked against me."

Aramis goes limp on top of him, rests his head on his chest, listens to Porthos's heartbeat for a while. 

"I think I could fall asleep like this," he mumbles. Porthos agrees. 

"What a shame it would be, though, to end the evening so early."

Porthos realizes he rather enjoys how Aramis's beard scratches his skin slightly once he raises his head to gaze up at him. 

"Recovery nap?" Aramis suggests, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a naughty smile. 

"Should I go on the couch, then?" It takes a second for Aramis's brain to process the question, and to remember why it is asked. Porthos grins down at him, then growls at the quick slap on his chest. "Hey! I was kidding!"

Aramis softens the blow with an enthusiastic kiss which makes him arch up until he's actually straddling Porthos once again, with no complaint on either side. 

"The oven," Porthos reminds him at one point, because even though he's adamant in keeping Aramis with him and in using this bed to its fullest, it'd be a waste to ruin their dinner. 

Aramis scrambles down and out of the room as fast as he can and he's back on Porthos, jumping and crushing him a little. 

The mere idea of sleeping is forgotten.


	14. Chapter 14

The sheets around Porthos smell like Aramis. So do the pillows. He feels like he is surrounded by a scent which reminds him so much of how it feels like to kiss the other that he would likely spend the next hours doing exactly this. 

Instead, he stretches out under the comfortable blanket, lets his head fall on the soft pillow. Aramis quickly crawls under the open arm, shivers a bit when he presses against Porthos's side. Cooling skin and cool linens. 

"That's better," he says, bending his legs, turning towards Porthos, one hand on his chest and one arm thrown around his waist. There's a nod somewhere above his head. 

Night has fallen outside, and there's only one small lamp lit in the apartment. It's enough to make Porthos yawn. Aramis chuckles as Porthos tries to stifle it. 

"I'm sorry, by the way," Aramis adds. 

"What for?"

"Slapping you."

"That? Don't worry about it," Porthos reassures him. The slap had been so playful that it hadn't hurt at all. 

Aramis raises his head, catches the smile on the other's face. He's more relaxed once the hand on his shoulder starts to move up and down his arm. 

"I meant to apologize more thoroughly but...oh well...it doesn't seem necessary anymore."

This definitely gets Porthos's attention. He blinks a few times to see more clearly and to chase away any inclination to fall asleep. Aramis has spoken so innocently, but his eyes tinkle once Porthos's can settle on them. 

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. I guess I would have been extra nice to make up for my bad actions."

Aramis props himself on an elbow, Porthos's hand landing on his hip, not moving anymore, merely clutching, while his moves dangerously low down Porthos's belly. 

Porthos tries to focus on what he wants to say. 

"And what would have this niceness included?"

Aramis continues to play, fingers grazing the hairs on Porthos's lower stomach, grazing those between his legs, but never quite reaching lower. They glide on his thighs.

Porthos hisses. Not so much because it tickles, but because he can feel himself becoming so aroused once more. It doesn't matter that he's just come minutes earlier. So soon in their relationship, he is firmly convinced that any touch from Aramis would turn him on in an instant. 

"You're not being nice when you tease."

Aramis grins, tilts his head until he can reach Porthos's lips. 

"I was only going to be nice and apologize if you had been upset. And since you're not..." He brushes his mouth against Porthos', licks the other's lips with the tip of his tongue, retreats every time Porthos attempts to get a hold on him to kiss him properly. 

Porthos growls.

"Then, I change my mind. What you did was very, very bad, and I think I should leave at...Ugh!"

Aramis's hand around his cock cuts him off, effectively shuts him up. His touch remains slow, even in this position. Hot fingers against silky skin, soft and warm. 

Aramis drops his head to Porthos's shoulder, sucks there, bites just a little, moans at the hand on his hip goes down to his ass, stays there and rubs. 

"What would you do after that?" Porthos manages to gasp. Aramis is stroking him intensely, leaving not a single part unattended, and now, it's absolutely too hot under the blankets. Porthos feels like he could combust at any time. 

Aramis gives no answer. Instead, he throws the duvet at the end of the bed, all but jumps on Porthos, who groans at the added pressure, at the hot flesh against his cock, rubbing so slowly and yet so steadily that he can finally open his eyes to gaze at Aramis. 

There are dark curls on his face, hiding his eyes, boucing around as he moves. Porthos gets a hold on his waist, pulls him in closer. Aramis's hands rest on his chest. He's doing his best to remain quiet and fails miserably. 

Porthos's great delight is to hear the little moans and whimpers. He can feel his cock getting wetter. He pushes Aramis flush against him, uses the hands on his ass to rock them together, all semblance of teasing or going slowly gone. 

"Hold on," Porthos warns, before he manages to sit up in bed, and Aramis would marvel at what an amazing move it was to do without using any hands, but he's too busy concentrating on clutching Porthos's neck, on grinding down against him, on kissing him. 

Aramis settles better on his lap, spreads his legs a little more on either side of Porthos. 

The touch becomes a bit rougher on his ass, on his back. Aramis has to close his eyes and bite his lip once Porthos hugs him tighter, their chests rubbing together. 

"I'd like to...resume from earlier," Porthos rasps in a low voice. 

"Aren't we?" It's a hot kiss on Porthos's shoulder; wet. 

"I meant...this, in particular," he explains, fingers splayed on Aramis's cheeks, groping. Aramis looks up as he understands, catches the lusty look in Porthos's eyes. It makes hims squirm on his lap. 

They both groan. Aramis attacks Porthos's mouth, drives his tongue so deep inside that all Porthos can do is give in and let him lick his tongue, without fighting back. 

"Please," Aramis finally agrees. 

Porthos lets his fingers wander on the sweaty skin. It's relaxing. Aramis shudders even in anticipation, and so much more when he can feel a finger trailing down his ass and touching his hole. He wills himself not to come at once again, but it's an inner battle, one he wins by moaning loudly, by gasping short breaths. 

He's so sensitive there, he has to close his eyes because it's too much. Porthos is careful, though, studies and caresses, takes his time. He speeds up what he's doing when it's clear that Aramis is lost in the sensation. 

Everything about Aramis is hot and sexy and seductive and Porthos truly wants to taste and try every inch of it. The thought makes him harder, his cock leaking against his stomach. 

Aramis has trouble looking at him correctly, and Porthos has trouble concentrating properly, except on the skin he's touching, the balls he grazes so often now that it makes Aramis throw his head back. 

Until he's flipped on his back, sprawled on the bed, and Porthos looms above him. Aramis's cock is hard, swollen and pulsing. It twitches in Porthos's mouth. 

"My God!" Aramis hisses in surprise, but it's a moan of pure ecstasy which intensifies as he glances down at Porthos's head between his legs, licking and sucking with much vigor. The tongue brushing the tip of his cock is such a tease, yet Porthos does it all the time, enjoys feeling Aramis shiver and tense underneath him. 

His finger is still probbing Aramis's hole at the same time, adding more and more pressure. Aramis has to grab the pillow above his head just to clutch something. His knuckles turn white. 

"Porthos, please," he begs, unashamed. 

The hot mouth around his cock disappear, only to be replaced by strong fingers which stroke a few seconds before disappearing, too. Then, those same fingers are back against his hole, press even more than before, and he opens his eyes when Porthos pushes one inside. 

Porthos looks up at Aramis, notices the look of pure pleasure on his face, and returns to enjoy the tightness around his finger, the way Aramis's body jerks in response. 

He wants to be careful, to go slow. It's a torture for him, as well, his own cock so painful from what he's doing and what he's seeing. He rubs against the sheets. 

"Please, please, *please*," Aramis laments, unable to keep still. The hot hand on his hip is reminder enough, but he does not care. 

"More?"

"And *move*."

The command is a bit abrupt. Porthos smiles and complies. He goes faster, watches Aramis, learns what pleases him, how his chest rises faster and faster each time he pushes a little more inside, each time he adds speed and how wild Aramis goes once he pushes two fingers in. 

"Ah, fuck!"

"Precisely." 

Porthos's grin swallows Aramis's erection, sucks hard. He ignores the warnings coming for him, refuses to move from his special position. His own cock is finding so much friction from the soft sheets that all he can think about is the cock in his mouth, the ass around his fingers, and the endless moans going straight to his guts. 

Aramis has no idea where to focus anymore, what he enjoys the most, he cannot dissociate one sensation from the other, and when Porthos pulls his head back to breathe, the steamy air surrounds his cock. 

He comes in Porthos's mouth as soon as it's back on him. In spite of the warning, Porthos doesn't miss one bit, keeps pushing inside Aramis, rubs everywhere he can touch, and allows Aramis' long groan to be his final trigger to come. 

"Wow. Wow....Wow." It's all that Aramis can say, and it takes him a few minutes to manage that as well. He's seeing white spots behind his eyelids, feels his body still twitching, his skin tingly and when he deigns come back to reality and open his eyes, Porthos has rested his chin on Aramis's thigh to gaze up at him. 

"What are you waiting for?" Aramis summons him to his side with the little strength he has left. 

Porthos comes willingly, wraps himself around Aramis and the arm thrown around his shoulder. He cannot help but give him a long kiss, and Aramis shivers, thinking of the place these lips have been before being against his own mouth. 

"I made a mess down there," Porthos apologizes, only to have Aramis shake his head. He keeps him close to his side, refuses to let him go. Their bodies are very sweaty, sticky as their hands clutch and roam skin.

"You're entirely forgiven. As I hope I am."

Porthos nods lazily, closes his eyes and breathes in Aramis; he lets his heartbeat slow down in the quiet of the room. Aramis's chest rises steadily against his cheek. 

When he next opens his eyes, there's not a sound in the room. It's noisy outside in the street. Porthos looks confused for a second, his arm is sore. The alarm clock by Aramis's bed informs him that it's almost midnight. 

Porthos yawns, cringes as he tries to move away from Aramis, who looks still blissfully asleep. Then he discovers that the other is a sound sleeper as he manages to leave his embrace and the bed without waking him up. 

His stomach rumbles once he stretches his muscles, gathers his underwear to put on, as well as his tee-shirt. It'll do for now. It'd be a sacrilege to eat the food Aramis made without the chef himself, so Porthos settles for a quick trip to the bathroom. 

It's strange, he realizes when he is better awake and in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Aramis was a complete stranger only four days ago. Now, he knows the basics of his life, it's like he's taken a crash course to make up for the couple of first dates they've missed before having sex. 

And yet, if he has to really think about it, it seems oddly normal to wake up in someone else's apartment, without a single worry, and to have no intention of leaving. 

Porthos doesn't mind, because Aramis mustn't be dangerous or have twisted intentions; Athos would have noticed and warned him beforehand. He can only imagine what his other friends would say if they'd known he'd gone to another man's apartment twice in less than a week, and he would be ready to stay longer if he could. 

He splashes some water on his face, before heading out to the living room once more. With Aramis asleep, and him being so hungry, Porthos knows he won't be able to fall asleep again. 

Instead, he settles for looking at the books on the shelves, tries to learn more about Aramis's tastes and life from them. He encounters some he's read, too, some in Spanish which he couldn't read at all. 

He grabs one, grabs the forgotten glass of wine from earlier and goes back to the bedroom. It's warmer under the blankets and the lamp by his side helps him get comfortable to read his novel. 

Aramis starts a little as he comes back to consciouness. His arm is sore and he stifles a groan as he rolls it. Even in his slumber, he felt as if there was liquid joy running through his relaxed body. 

Once he takes in the frown on Porthos's concentrated face, the way he purses his lips as he reads quietly, sitting in bed next to him, all Aramis can do is smile to himself. 

_I could get used to this. ___


	15. Chapter 15

There's music blasting in Athos' speaker as soon as Porthos picks up. So loud that he has to pull the phone away from his ear. 

"Hold on a sec'," Porthos almost shouts. Athos waits until the music slowly fades, always there in the background and yet not quite as deafening as before. Then, a door shuts close and it's somehow silent on the other end of the line. 

"What's up?" Porthos asks eventually, sitting down in his office. 

"Aramis brought me apple pie." From the way the statement is delivered, Porthos can't pinpoint if his best friend is pleased with the dessert or not. "He said he used vodka and bourbon."

"You sound dubious. Did you try it?"

"I did. It's rather good. And you can totally taste the bourbon."

As a matter of fact, the pie dish is lurring him in from its position on the kitchen counter, asking Athos to come back for more. 

Porthos relaxes in his chair, props his legs on the desk. 

"He's quite the baker." Athos can HEAR how smug he sounds, how satisfied he is. Porthos can SEE him roll his eyes for the few seconds he doesn't reply and the line is silent. 

"Any idea why he did it, though?"

"Because he likes me and if it wasn't for you who wouldn't have met?"

".....probably. He does like you, that's for sure. He seemed a little disappointed you didn't show up for lunch today. But thank God, you didn't. Last Saturday was enough."

Porthos chuckles. 

"I apologized for it. And I think, my *boyfriend* just did, too."

It has a nice roll on his tongue, to associate the word with Aramis, despite not having seen him since Sunday. They made up for the lack of actual contact with constantly spamming each other's phone with messages. 

Porthos almost believed he might have been too overwhelming at one point, but Aramis never complained, always texted back. It's easy to be so open with someone you feel so comfortable around. And Porthos cannot wait to finally see him again later in the day. 

"How's your art going?"

"It's going well. One week was all the time I needed to clearly see what could be improved. So really, when you see Aramis, do tell him it's no longer necessary to say he's sorry for last time."

"I told him you didn't mind."

"I minded a bit," Athos corrects, playing with the fork and the pie crust, contemplating taking more bites. If Aramis' skills are as extraordinary as Porthos praised them, he may have to come up with more projects he could model for. Only to have him deliver more baked goods. 

"Take a sip of that fine bottle I brought you, then."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're plotting to make me fat and drunk."

"Ah, not to worry, we're not that far into our relationship _yet _. Anyway. Any chance you could tell me what this project of yours is? Aramis refused to say anything."__

__"Because I asked him not to say a word to anyone."_ _

__Porthos tuts, tries to pry more but is denied any other answer._ _

__"Think of it this way: it'll be a nice surprise for you when you finally see it."_ _

__"Which is?"_ _

__"Soon. I guess."_ _

__"Artists." Porthos shakes his head, fully aware that Athos won't take any offence in it._ _

__"Don't you have some weights to lift or something?" he retorts, and Porthos laughs out loud, effectively springs from his chair._ _

__"As a matter of fact, that's precisely what I was doing when you called."_ _

__"I'll see you later, then."_ _

__"Yeah, see ya."_ _

__When Athos hangs up, it's on loud music again._ _

__As he returns to his duties, Porthos thinks that today is one of the few drawbacks of being the boss. Because when an employee calls in sick, you have to teach their classes and take over their front desk hours. Even if you would have been far better out in the city._ _

__A week is a long time without seeing Aramis, especially after all the frenzy they've been through in the few days they've known each other. It's puzzling to realize that it's been almost seven days since he left his apartment on Sunday, freshened up and so much rested that it was in complete contradiction with all the action they'd been getting themselves into._ _

__Yet, exams can't be helped, probably the only problem in dating a student._ _

__By the end of the afternoon, Porthos can finally leave the gym, but not without having had to cancel going to watch Aramis practice first._ _

__There's enough time for a quick shower before he has to leave home again, running against the clock and no desire to be late. Not today._ _

__It's a nice weekend in the city, better than all the rain they had during the previous one. Rain is an excellent reason for staying indoors, but going out with Aramis, and actually going out somewhere outdoors, it's almost as good._ _

__Porthos spots him as soon as he jogs up the stairs from the subway station._ _

__Aramis has his back to a wall, headphones on and eyes and mind captivated by the book he holds with both hands. He raises his head suspiciously at the dark shadow stepping in front of him, then startles a little at finding Porthos close to him._ _

__The broad smile on his face is such a genuine reaction that Porthos doesn't even greet him properly before kissing him._ _

__With the music in his ears, shutting out all the outside noises, Aramis melts into the kiss, melts against Porthos and the hand pulling him flush against the other. He's missed it so much, and seven days is definitely too long without proper attention. Especially when it's Porthos'._ _

__It's a struggle to remain decent and not simply launch himself at Porthos. Instead he settles for the softness and the sweetness of warm lips on his, never pushing for more, because who knows what would happen then._ _

__Porthos breathes in the cigarette that must have been smoked minutes earlier, only to realize that if the smell usually disgusts him, he actually missed it on Aramis._ _

__"Hi," he eventually says once Aramis has removed his headphones, is assaulted by street noises, cars, honking, people shouting, speaking loudly, children and scooters. He's also more pleasantly assaulted by Porthos' warmth and his welcoming smile._ _

__Just a few seconds and Aramis is giddy with happiness._ _

__"Hi." It's the only thing he can think of saying back. How ever ridiculous it might be, they fall silent after that, only staring at one another, all smiles and sparkling eyes._ _

__The words are on Aramis' tongue, he wants to say them, would say them if he didn't stop himself short to think a little longer._ _

___*I've missed you.* ____ _

____"How are you?" he asks instead, would kick himself for being so plain. Porthos simply keeps on smiling, readjusts his jacket._ _ _ _

____"Still good." *Better* And it's cheesy and he won't say it out loud. It must be written all over his face anyway._ _ _ _

____If he needed further proof, he knows, in these few minutes, that it's more than physical attraction between the two of them. It's more than a primal lust for sex, which is still amazing, but there's more. It shows plainly on Aramis' face, in the brightness in his eyes, on the way he seems to be unable to look at anything else than Porthos._ _ _ _

____Porthos knows, because it's what he feels, too._ _ _ _

____"But I should be the one asking you this. It's you that suffered that week."_ _ _ _

____Aramis laughs, runs a hand through his hair. He shrugs._ _ _ _

____"We'll see. I'm glad it's over and I only have my dissertation to worry about now."_ _ _ _

____"I don't see how that's an improvement." Porthos frowns, can't imagine what can be so enthralling in researching for hours, in writing hundreds of pages which will be endlessly criticized. It's beyond him._ _ _ _

____"Oh, but it is. Because you see, it means only a couple of classes every week," Aramis arguments, one hand flat on Porthos' chest, a smirk appearing on his lips. "And all the time in the world to work whenever and wherever I want."_ _ _ _

____"I'm beginning to see your point." The fingers on his chest are distracting, a fact Aramis is well aware of. He takes another step forward until they're flushed together once more, licks his lips and brings them down to Porthos'._ _ _ _

____"Good."_ _ _ _

____"I've missed you," Porthos states bluntly when they stop kissing._ _ _ _

____Aramis' grin widens. So he replies, unashamed to share the feeling._ _ _ _

____"I've missed you, too. And now we have hours to ourselves and I don't want to talk about exams or studying anymore."_ _ _ _

____With that, he grabs Porthos' hand, threads their fingers together, maybe a bit too tight, but he hears no complaint, and drags him in the direction of their concert._ _ _ _

____The park isn't too crowded when they finally get there after a short walk, even if the bands have already started playing._ _ _ _

____Aramis takes in the surroundings, the people sitting or lying down or simply standing in the grass. He sighs happily, keeps on smiling dreamily when they sit down as well. He lounges on the grass, leaning so close to Porthos._ _ _ _

____"It reminds me of home," Aramis says after a couple of songs where they've only listened, content to sit next to each other, arms bumping and shoulders touching._ _ _ _

____"The music?"_ _ _ _

____"The concerts, or going out late in the day while the sun sets and you'll never know when the night will end." He turns his head to look at Porthos as he speaks, then shivers at the chilly wind bothering him. He frowns. "It's not as hot, though."_ _ _ _

____Porthos cannot help himself, reaches out and draps one arm around Aramis' shoulders, brings him in closer and starts rubbing his arm to keep him warm._ _ _ _

____Aramis finds no complaint to add after this. He puts his head down on Porthos' shoulder, closes his eyes to let the music surround him._ _ _ _

____"Why did you come to Paris?"_ _ _ _

____"My mom is from around here. Not Paris itself, but the suburbs. And every time we would visit as kids, it felt amazing. Besides, after what happened to me, it seemed like a good idea to move as far away as possible."_ _ _ _

____"Your broken foot, you mean?"_ _ _ _

____"Yes, that and..."_ _ _ _

____He's cut off by a boucing figure which appears on front of them, plops down in the grass._ _ _ _

____"I knew I'd spotted you!" she exclaims above the music._ _ _ _

____Porthos looks pleasantly surprised to see her, as he disentangles himself from Aramis to reach forward and hug her. She doesn't appear interested in answering any of his questions regarding how she's doing. Instead, she's focused on Aramis, who's waiting for an introduction as well._ _ _ _

____"Ah yes, this is Aramis. Aramis..."_ _ _ _

____"I'm Flea," she finishes for him, leaning him to kiss him on both cheeks, which greatly amuses him. He's still no idea who she is, but she must be great fun to be around. "We grew up together," she finally explains, before she slaps Porthos' arm._ _ _ _

____He leans back, obviously outraged._ _ _ _

____"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend!" She sounds so accusing, perhaps a little hurt._ _ _ _

____"You told me you couldn't come tonight."_ _ _ _

____"We changed our mind. You still didn't tell me."_ _ _ _

____"It's only been one week," Aramis chimes in, eager to support Porthos._ _ _ _

____"And I wanted to keep him to myself without you hovering around."_ _ _ _

____Flea smiles a little at this, shakes her head and the blond hair piled on top of her head bounces in response. She studies Aramis carefully for a few seconds, must decide that she likes what she sees because she pats his leg._ _ _ _

____"I'll leave you to it, then." She winks at Porthos when she stands back up and dusts her skirt. Aramis can only chuckle. And she scampers off from where she came from, turning around one last time to look pointedly at Porthos. He knows he'll get a lengthy call from her the next day. Then she disappears from their sight._ _ _ _

____"What was that?" Aramis has to ask._ _ _ _

____"Flea. She has the annoying habit of always appearing out of nowhere to surprise you."_ _ _ _

____"She seems nice. Well, except for the part when she slapped you."_ _ _ _

____Porthos laughs it off, pulls Aramis close to him once more, settles down in their embrace._ _ _ _

____"I thought you said you didn't have any siblings." The words are spoken softly in a rare moment of silence while one band is exiting the stage and another one is getting set up._ _ _ _

____"I don't. I...I grew up with Flea, nevertheless. And Charon, that's her boyfriend, who I assume must be on the other side of that dash she just made."_ _ _ _

____Being outdoors in such a crowd might not be the best place in the world to retell his lifestory, and yet, it's slightly better than just the two of us. At least here, he can use the excuse of focusing on passerbys or on the grass, or on the music rather than only having to look at Aramis._ _ _ _

____He's never been ashamed of his childhood, more angry at those responsible, and yet he cannot help but dread how Aramis will react. He has to tell him at one point, though, and sooner sounds better than later._ _ _ _

____"I never had any dad, you see. And my mom died when I was so young, I hardly remember her."_ _ _ _

____Aramis listens intently, never says a word, never cuts him off. He simply sits up straight, hardly blinks, grabs Porthos' hand and holds on to it._ _ _ _

____"I told you that I never left Paris growing up, and that's because I was born here, and after mom passed away, I had no family. She wasn't from around here, you see, and no one could take care of me. So the state did. That's where I met Flea and Charon, and some others that you might meet one day."_ _ _ _

____Aramis squeezes his hand at this, a way to show he will hold him to this promise._ _ _ _

____"The orphanage wasn't so bad, especially as I was so young and I had so many friends."_ _ _ _

____"How long did you stay there?" Aramis dares ask after a pause in Porthos' tale. Porthos smiles a little brighter now._ _ _ _

____"I must have been around 15 when this guy came and said he wanted to foster me. When you've been moving from foster family to foster family for years, you start feeling nothing when a new one comes around and decides they'll change your life. Except this one did. I never came back to the orphanage after that. Flea and Charon were older than me and had already left for college or whatever studies they wanted to do back then. I loved every second of being a real kid living in a real house. It took almost two years before I realized that I shouldn't be worried about him changing his mind. But when I did, it was amazing."_ _ _ _

____He doesn't sound so nostalgic anymore, not as sad as he was when talking about the orphanage._ _ _ _

____"He'll never be my father, because I actually met my real father a couple of years ago, rich bastard who claimed he didn't even know I existed, but who still believed he could buy my affection with money. It did buy me my gym so I'll be thankful for that. But that's it. He's got no part in my life. Tréville, that's my foster dad, he's everything a little boy could have dreamed of."_ _ _ _

____It's taken him a long time to tell everything, including the many pauses and hesitations in his tale. Aramis is still clutching his hand so tight, his knuckles hurt once he releases Porthos. There's a frown on his face, but no pity in his eyes. He even seems a bit angry, which comforts Porthos._ _ _ _

____Darkness is settling in around them, lights are being turned on and people are buzzing around. A much bigger crowd has gathered now._ _ _ _

____Aramis leans in, kisses Porthos slowly, softly, with such kindness that it almost makes him forget the story he's just told. It reminds him that he's supposed to be happy tonight, glad to spend the evening with Aramis._ _ _ _

____"Let's go somewhere quiet?" Aramis suggests, all gentle and compassionate eyes. Porthos can only agree._ _ _ _


	16. Chapter 16

Porthos takes another long sip of his beer, reclines a little on his chair then resumes the story he's telling Aramis, who seems so engrossed in the tale that he is leaning close to him, elbows resting on the table. His eyes haven't stopped staring intently at Porthos, and he's drinking his every word, much more than he is drinking his abandoned drink on the table. 

"It must have been around two months after I moved in with Tréville. The house wasn't so big, but I was still distrustful, you know, only waiting for him to change his mind. And school wasn't so great, either. It was a new one, I didn't know anyone, and I was the novelty everybody was talking about."

Aramis frowns at this, can almost relate to it. Not because he moved so many times during his childhood, but only because he used to miss a lot of school days, always somewhere away for a championship or merely training, and there were always whispers and loud talks about him when he came back. 

Still, he doesn't interrupt Porthos and keeps on listening. 

"I had new clothes, though, brand new and that was nice. It helped me blend in."

"I wouldn't have taken you for the blending-in type," Aramis has to interrupt this time. Porthos grins at him.

"Well, back then I was. I know, hard to imagine." His grin widens, Aramis smiles back. "Anyway. Tréville had told me from the get-go that if I wanted to invite friends over, I totally could. He doesn't have any kids himself, and even though I liked playing football with him, it wasn't the same. I simply had to ask him first. To be completely honest, what happened wasn't really my fault. I was minding my own business, doing homework late at night and then Charon appeared out of nowhere."

Aramis likes watching Porthos' face transform when he recalls these events almost as much as he enjoys listening to his anecdotes from his childhood. He could keep gazing at him all night along. 

"I mean, my room was on the second floor so for him to climb up there was a feat in itself. It could have been a rescue, I'll admit it had happened in the past..."

"Did you really? Leave foster families like that?"

"Once, yes. Horrible, horrible people, a very nasty dog and I was so miserable I had stopped eating. To my defence, I didn't run into the wilderness. I returned to the orphanage but I do believe Miss Elise almost had a stroke finding me on the front steps. I was nine at the time, you see."

Aramis laughs because Porthos laughs at this particular memory. Deep inside, Aramis is appaled that some people could be so mean and selfish to drive a small child to such extremes. 

"But it didn't happen with Tréville, I mean your dad, am I right?"

"Oh no. Charon only came to check on me, to complain about how boring school was and to eat the snacks I had in my room. I was allowed snacks in my bedroom, it was like paradise for a teenager! I still remember how terrified I was when Tréville barged in on us later that night. I was so sure he would send me back for breaking a rule. He's in the military, you know, so he was pretty strict on some stuff. Instead, he must have decided that Charon wasn't going to murder any of us, especially after I introduced him. His only recommendations were that next time, he should use the door and that we couldn't sleep in the same bed. My teenage self was disgusted by the ideas which must have been in his mind when he said that."

Porthos shakes his head at the memories he's just brought back to the fore; he feels relieved to be able to talk about it with Aramis. He glances at how their fingers are laced in the middle of the table, how Aramis' thumb rubs the back of his hand softly. 

Then the food finally arrives and they have to reclaim their respective hand.

"He sounds like a great guy," Aramis says after a while when they've seemed so hungry that the conversation had to stop. Porthos nods and swallows. 

"Definitely. And not only when I compare it with some of the jerks I've had to deal with before him. He's really worth knowing."

Porthos pauses, considers what he just said, catches the look on Aramis' face, eager and hopeful. 

"You know, when I was still little, right after my mom died, I used to wish that my father, the real one, who should up one day, and swipe me away, take me to a grand place where we would live forever together. I guess when you've no one else left, fairytles take on a different meaning. Because it seemed unfair that I had to grow with nobody while the kids in the TV shows had both their mother and father. The staff was fantastic, I'll give you that. They were amazing, nothing like what you can hear sometimes about orphanages. But it could never be the same. Because I strongly stand by the idea that no child should grow up without parents if it can be avoided."

Porthos feels a bit drained after his speech so he busies himself with eating. Aramis nods quietly, focused on his own plate. 

There aren't many patrons in the restaurant and they're seated in a corner, left in peace by the waiter. 

"What about you?" Porthos asks when the silence stretches. Aramis raises his head slowly, a frown on his face. "What was it like? Growing up with two sisters?"

Aramis beams up at this. 

"You remember."

"Of course, I do. I'll confess I forgot the names, though."

Aramis chuckles, shakes his head and the curls framing his face bounce around, hide the way his eyes laugh a little. 

"My parents have a lot of land, fruit trees and stuff like that. So we had a huge estate to run around. It was very nice, especially in summer time. We didn't live far from the sea."

"It does sound nice."

"It was. It still is. They still live over there."

"Are you the oldest one?"

"The youngest. I was so spoiled, it was outrageous, now that I think about it. We had some dogs and I would follow them everywhere, from the very first day I could walk, according to my mom. Once I helped them destroy some flower beds and all that I got was a quick scolding before being sent to watch TV. My sisters, they....didn't really like it."

"I can imagine. Did they make you suffer?"

Aramis smirks, eats some more of his pizza. 

"Whatever they would do, whatever *I* would do, they were always blamed for it. Ali's two years older and Sophia three. So you see, it was always their fault. Which is incredibly unfair because...."

Aramis leans in closer; Porthos meets him halway over the table so he can catch the whisper. 

"...I was a bit...naughty and I would have deserved some rather efficient and harsh punishment. I always managed to get myself out of trouble so easily, though."

"You were quite the charmer, then."

Aramis agrees, sits back on his chair. 

"It hasn't changed," Porthos decides. Aramis blinks at the compliment, considers it. 

"Being a charmer or..."

"That and being naughty." 

Aramis does blush this time, hides his face in his drink while Porthos snorts. 

"I do hope that's a compliment, as well."

"Oh, absolutely."

Lost in their conversation, they've stayed so long in the Italian restaurant. It baffles Porthos when he looks at his watch after hours of talking. 

They pass on dessert, settle for walking around in the neighborhood. The Opera in front of them is shining in the darkness, and nothing in the streets is quiet. 

"What's on your mind?" Porthos eventually has to ask. Aramis has hardly contributed to the conversation ever since they've left the restaurant and every time Porthos glances at him, he seems to be frowning and chewing on his lip. 

Aramis startles at the question, cannot find a good answer and settles for shrugging and lighting up a cigarette. 

"I was just thinking that it was really unfair that you had to grow up like that."

It's Porthos' turn to shrug. 

"There's no point in being bitter about it, you know. In the end I was lucky and that's what's important."

He steps toward Aramis who has stopped and is fiddling with his lighter. He waits for him to breathe out the smoke and bends down to kiss him. Aramis all but sinks into him, clings to him as if his very life depended on it. 

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes...Do you want to have another drink somewhere?" 

He certainly doesn't want to ruin the evening or see it end so soon. It's chilly in the street, though.

"I'm always in for drinks. Where?"

"I chose the restaurant. You pick."

Porthos hesitates for a second, studies Aramis intensely, wonders if his choice would be too daring. Then decides that the other will probably not mind. 

"In the 19th?"

It only takes Aramis a few seconds to understand what it means. Porthos has wrapped one arm around his waist, and Aramis leans against the touch. 

"You're rather confident I'll open my door again for you."

"Because you wouldn't?"

Aramis presses closer, shuts Porthos up with a kiss of his own. He can't imagine one day thinking that he wouldn't like having Porthos in his apartment.

"I have some beers," he replies instead before he sets off. 

Once again, the apartment looks like the shelves have blown up. Aramis apologizes quickly, gathers an incredible pile of books, some end up kicked under the couch and the table. 

Porthos passes the time looking at Aramis, finding his energetic and frantic cleaning method rather entertaining. He would help, but would probably only get in the way. 

"Is that one of your sisters?" he inquires while he's studying a framed photograph. 

Aramis freezes for a second, gathers his thoughts, goes to get two beers and hands one to Porthos. 

"Nope. She's a friend. Here, sit down."

Porthos obeys the command and gets comfortable on the couch. Aramis takes a few sips, decides that he doesn't really want to talk anymore. 

"Do you usually assault your guests like that?" Porthos chuckles as he helps Aramis get situated on his lap. Aramis groans a little at the muscles stretching because of how he's straddling Porthos, but after a few kisses and the comfort of how close they can be, he doesn't mind anymore. 

"If I remember correctly, last week, you assaulted me."

"Well, either way, I don't mind."

Aramis hums his approval against his lips, sighs at the hand on his waist, then at the second one as Porthos gets rid of his drink, already empty. They stay here above his clothes, barely moving, simply rubbing. 

It's a long kiss and there's no hurry and tonight, Porthos doesn't feel like rushing anything. It's been an eventful evening so being able to hold Aramis and to rejoice in the arms clutching his neck, it's enough to satisfy him. 

"I want to do something for you," Aramis says against his neck where his lips have glided. He's been laying so many kisses on Porthos' over-sensitive skin that in spite of how innocent Porthos would have been happy to keep things, it's becoming a challenge. 

"You're already doing lots." His hands move up Aramis' back, then down, until his fingers can dip a little below the waistline of his jeans. Aramis shivers, presses against Porthos' chest, tickles the side of the other's face with his hair. 

"Something even better. Nicer."

He straightens up, searches Porthos' face and finds two dark eyes looking at him. Aramis smiles, gives him another lingering kiss, warm lips moving together, barely the tip of a tongue sneaking into Porthos' mouth. 

"Something that includes my bed."

"Oh, I'm up for anything if your bed is involved."

Reluctantly, he lets Aramis stand up and then they're in his bedroom. Aramis proceeds to take off Porthos' clothes, first his top, before he loses track and has to pause to kiss Porthos' chest. His hands also join in, graze the hard skin, make Porthos growl and feel a bit impatient. 

Aramis takes his time, though, warms Porthos from the inside out, revels in the way his breathing change. He breathes out loudly, his chest rises unevenly under Aramis' touch. 

After a while, Porthos can only handle it by closing his eyes, entirely focused on the fingers working his belt open, then the zipper of his jeans. 

"You'll have to help me out here," Aramis asks so that Porthos will step out of his jeans. When he's left with his underwear on, Aramis draps himself around his neck, drags him in for another kiss and Porthos stops thinking halfway through it. 

Aramis' every move are all gentleness and care, and it's so easy to get lost in the moment. There's an instant of surprise when he next speaks up. 

"Can you lie down, face first?...Please?" he adds, stroking Porthos' chest. "I'm really good with my hands and you seemed a little tense. After everything you just shared, I'd be the same so..."

He quickly strides to the bathroom, rummages through his stuff and Porthos does as he's told as soon as he see the massage oil.

"I haven't used this in a long time, but I don't think it goes bad, does it?"

Porthos shakes his head, mumbles onto the bedcover that he has no idea, then groans in anticipation at Aramis sitting down above him. 

The wonderful smell when he opens the bottle is a good indication that the oil is still perfectly good. 

Porthos' shoulders twitch under Aramis' wet and hot hands, he has to close his eyes. The smell is strong, but Aramis distracts him from it by rubbing his back, clearly talented for that as well. 

His hands glide so easily on Porthos' dark skin, the oil makes it shine in the light, makes it even more delectable. 

This is the most intimate thing they've done so far, everything is silent and their breathing has evened out. Porthos has never felt better. 

His muscles start to relax, he can feel himself loosen up, becoming lighter in spite of the weight above him. All his thoughts ar concentrated on Aramis, how his fingers exactly know how and where to touch to send waves of positive energy throughout his entire body. 

The soft kiss on the nape of his neck, the hand running through his hair add pleasant new sensations. Porthos sighs out. 

"I thought you'd fallen asleep on me." Aramis' whisper vibrates against his skin. Porthos shivers, stretches a bit. He may have been dozing off. 

Another kiss and Aramis moves away, lies down next to him. It's a great effort to open his eyes and turn on his side so he can gather Aramis in his arms. Porthos feels like a cat, warm and loving and soft and no desire to do anything but stay there lazily. 

Aramis curls next to him, clutches his waist, doesn't move, lets Porthos fall asleep in his arms.


	17. Chapter 17

Porthos groans at the disturbing and yet steady sound weaving its way through his slumber. It's so completely dark in the room that he doesn't even understand why his phone would be chirping in the dead of the night. 

Very carefully, he sits up in bed, realizes Aramis is sprawled by his side, taking up so much space that it's a wonder Porthos hasn't ended up on the floor. 

Aramis' chest rises steadily, soft breaths and one tiny whimper as Porthos moves and the hand that was on his stomach falls on the warm sheets. 

Porthos tries to be silent as he gropes around the foot of the bed, locates his phone and fishes it out of his jeans. The screen is too bright, he decides, when he sinks back on the bed, shields his eyes with his arm. 

*We're moving brunch to today. Be there.*

*It's 6 in the morning! Why on Earth are you sending me texts now???*

Then he cringes as the device vibrates in his hand and the screen indicates that Flea is actually trying to call him. He ends the call before it even starts. 

*I'm not answering so early. I'm going back to sleep.*

*I want to know more about your new man. Brunch at 1!!!*

*Got it. Let me be.*

He tosses the phone so far away it bounces off the bed and ends up on the rug. Before he has a chance to try to fall asleep once again, Aramis starts to wiggle by his side, confused at the lack of warm linens on top of him. 

Porthos remedies to it at once, finds it's a shame to cover Aramis' beautifully naked body with anything but himself and gathers the moving form in his arms, cradles Aramis' head against his shoulder. There's a low sigh as Aramis gets comfortable, rubs his nose on Porthos' chest. 

"What time is it?" he mumbles. He clutches Porthos' waist, fingers splayed on the small of his back. Porthos' chest rumbles when he answers. 

"Sssshhhh. Too early." 

It's barely a whisper. Aramis likes it very much, prefers it to the dreams he's been having. He's actually kind of glad he's been jostled to consciousness. 

"What's happened?"

"Nothing. Flea texted me."

"Something wrong?"

"Not yet."

"Yeah?" The more he talks, the more awake Aramis sounds. Porthos badly wants to go back to sleep, but the way Aramis moves and the way his fingers trace endless lines on his skin are a distraction. If he has to stay awake for that, he doesn't mind.

"She wants to chat about you."

Aramis' little giggle echoes against Porthos' naked side and it's so innocent, so carefree that he wraps his arms tighter around the other. There are curls brushing his chin, that he feels more than sees. He's struggling to keep his eyes closed. 

Aramis is so snuggly right after waking up that Porthos basks in it, still much relaxed from the massage he got earlier in the night and the long hours of sleep. 

The hand on his back moves lower, tantalizing slow and Porthos can only shudder as it brushes his ass, his thigh, then up again, and down. There's no going back to sleep now, and he couldn't be more pleased. 

It's a stretch for Aramis to reach his lips in the darkness, and in spite of Porthos' half-hearted protest, he welcomes the tongue in his mouth. It's slow for a while, the wandering fingers warming him incredibly more and it's almost suffocating under the blanket. 

Aramis gets more greedy, lashes against Porthos, groans and rubs his ass, dares go much lower, feels Porthos arch and growl. 

"You still taste like me," Aramis decides, a bit short of breath when they interrupt their kissing. 

There's a moment of complete emptiness while he turns around to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. The light glows behind him and Porthos realizes Aramis is licking his lips. He looks wide awake, dark eyes staring straight at him. 

"That's because I got to try a lof of you last night."

Aramis' tongue wets his lips once more, beckoning Porthos closer. He whimpers at the full body lying down on him, pinning him to the bed, strong and massive and wonderful. 

One giant hand closes on his cock, Porthos' mouth swallows his excited squeal. 

"So...you're a morning person as well."

"Oh, Porthos, I'm an anytime-of-the-day person."

Porthos can hear the seduction and lust dripping from his words. Aramis is grinning up at him as Porthos gets comfortable by his side, strokes him lazily, slowly and with such vigour that any conversation becomes impossible. 

His cock hardens under the pressure, Aramis has to bite his lip to stop moaning constantly. Instead, he turns his head, wants to watch Porthos and the hungry look on his face. 

He bends down to suck in the crook of Aramis' neck, licks the beads of sweat gathering there. 

"You're awfully quiet," Porthos remarks, fingernails grazing Aramis' cock, his balls, and the sparks that it sends throughout his body almost make Aramis lose his mind. Instead of answering with proper words, he can only utter one long moan. 

"That's more like it," Porthos agrees, doesn't speed up anything, lets one finger glide lower, rubs Aramis' hole for a second and then moves up to his balls. He keeps on the same pattern, tries to ignore how Aramis' noises turn him on so much that his cock starts to leak against his stomach. 

He cannot ignore it when a trembling hand wraps around it, and Aramis tries to match Porthos' rhythm. 

Porthos hisses at the touch which almost makes him lose it, before he can focus again. Aramis is whimpering with need, his body glistening with sweat, Porthos' fingers are wet from pre-come, he's rocking his hips to keep up with Aramis' ministrations. 

"Do you want..." Porthos has to ask when Aramis moans louder, rocks his hips up and spreads his legs wider. His eyes are closed, too lost in incredible sensations. He doesn't answer the unspoken question, merely shakes his head, uses his free hand to direct Porthos' strong fingers to his hole. 

The demand is rather urgent and his entire body tenses up with anticipation and excitement. His own hand stills as Porthos moves in him, too slowly for his liking, too gently. 

And then it's easy to lose control because the only thing Aramis can think about is Porthos' fingers, buried so deep within him that they stretch him so gloriously and the pain he sometimes feels adds to his pleasure. 

From where he's lying on his side, Porthos cannot prevent him from rocking his hips up, wriggling about under his touch and he just knows that this magnificent sight will soon be his undoing. 

Aramis is stroking his cock erractically, trying to make him feel good, too, but surrounded by his own pleasure, he forgets everything else. The lack of pattern in his touch is actually what tips Porthos' over the edge. 

His eyes are locked on Aramis, the ecstasy displayed on his face, on the way he pants and trashes. And when he finally opens his eyes, gasping because Porthos added a third finger, he's of such grand beauty that Porthos comes without warning. 

Aramis archs up again, captures his lips, licks inside the other's mouth, slows his fingers on his cock, bends his legs a little, forces Porthos deeper and comes all over his own stomach. 

"Good morning," Aramis says quietly, relinquishing his grip on Porthos reluctantly. He whimpers as Porthos reclaims his fingers, feels empty and would only want to start again. 

"Hi," Porthos replies, smoothing the damp hair stuck to Aramis' forehead, to his temples and his cheeks. 

He grabs the towel hanging from the headboard, quickly cleans Aramis and himself. 

"You know, I could get used to waking up like this...," Porthos mumbles in Aramis' hair once he's gathered him in his arms again and the other is almost sprawled on top of him, yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

In the few moments after he's come, Aramis realizes that Porthos easily shares his feelings. Something that he usually does anyway, but much more then. And Aramis likes it. He likes thinking the same as Porthos. He likes finding it oddly natural to be so comfortable with someone who was supposed to be a one-night stand, with someone he's only known for a week. 

He likes falling asleep in his arms, without a care in the world. Not right after he's found his own release. 

When Aramis next wakes up, it's because of the alarm clock. Porthos swears under his breath from his position by the side of the bed. 

"Good morning again," Aramis greets him, stretches, satisfied to find no tension in his body. He sits up behind Porthos, doesn't think about it as he rests his chin on his shoulder. 

Porthos grins at the move, and it's unsettling how natural interactions can be even when you've only known the other person for a few days.

"Hey."

"Alarm clock on a Sunday? What's that heresy?"

The chuckle rumbling through Porthos' body makes Aramis' head vibrate and he smiles as well. 

Porthos' shoulders drop a little. He would have gladly spent the day with Aramis. Until his foggy mind clears enough for him to have a brilliant idea.

"I'm having brunch with Flea and Charon. Do you want to join us?"

Aramis straightens in surprise. He looks bewildered as Porthos shifts on the bed to look him in the eye. 

"Really? I wouldn't want to impose..."

"I'm asking you to come. You would hardly be a disturbance. You could never be one."

Aramis' eyes do light up at this, and the way he scratches his beard while he thinks makes Porthos want to kiss the cuteness away. 

Then Aramis' stomach takes the decision for him. Its loud growling resonates in the silent bedroom. 

He's pleasantly glad to be able to spend some more time with Porthos, and it's a gorgeous spring day outside, that really, Aramis can imagine that for a few precious hours everything is perfect and worry-free in the world. 

Porthos' hand is secure in his, the most natural gesture in the universe, as far as he's concerned, and for a split second he's terrified to lose it. 

He starts to grow apprehensive when the restaurant appears at the end of a street. 

"Don't be afraid to shut her up if she gets too noisy," Porthos reassures him. Aramis nods, secretly thrilled to be able to properly meet Porthos' close friends so early in their relationship. 

A little afraid to ruin things. 

In the end, Flea and Charon are awfully nice and welcoming. They don't even seem surprised that he's been invited to their meal. Flea doesn't comment on Porthos wearing the same clothes as the previous night. She does wink, though, smirks. 

Porthos stares blankly at her, clutches Aramis' waist as they sit down at their table. His arm hardly moves during the entire time they spend together. 

Flea has so many questions, though. So many things to ask Aramis about his life and she doesn't appear to care if she's being too inquisitive, despite Charon often remarking on her lack of manners and Porthos often telling Aramis he doesn't have to answer. 

And yet, he learns a lot about Aramis, who doesn't mind the more innocent questions. Their legs are touching under the table, their feet rubbing together. 

"So...you're friend with Athos and them?" Aramis asks after they've left the restaurant and they're taking a stroll in the street, neither of them eager to go their separate ways yet. 

"I know, there's a big gap between them," Porthos admits, shaking his head. "I met Athos in school after I was adopted. I went to this really posh school and he was the only kid who didn't seem fazed by the former poor orphan in his class."

"Do they get along? Because Athos is rather quiet and well, Charon is....and Flea, wow."

"They all love me. They get along just fine." Porthos winks at him. 

Aramis' phone chimes again then, and Porthos has lost track of how many times it has done so in the last hours. Aramis has ignored every single one of the texts so far. But he frowns a bit more with each new one. 

"You can answer them, you know."

"It's just a friend. I'll call back later."

Persistent friend, Porthos cannot help thinking. They distract Aramis a lot, because he starts to chew on his lip, looks everywhere but at Porthos. Then he switches his phone off entirely, his face transforms and he's a mask of seduction again.


	18. Chapter 18

It's almost the end of Aramis' fencing practice by the time Constance sits down next to Porthos on the bleachers. He didn't mind being by himself, so engrossed that he was in watching Aramis. He finds every move graceful and well-coordinated and it's almost like a dance. 

"You're back", she says enthusiastically to greet him. Porthos smiles at her. 

"I am."

"Good. That's good," she decides, looking genuinely happy for them. Porthos is, too. 

"I do understand what you mean when you said that he was showing off last time."

Porthos can in no way claim to be an expert in that sport, and yet he's noticed how Aramis' moves as well as his training partner's are a bit slower than the first time he came. 

Constance nods thoughtfully. 

"I told you! He wanted to impress you."

"Well, he did."

"Did you meet him at the university?"

"Oh no. It's been a long time since I've left school. He's modeling for a friend of mine. We met there."

It appears to be a new piece of information for Constance who suddenly looks more interested in it than what is happening in the gym. 

"So, that's what he's been hiding! What kind of modeling?"

"If only I knew. They both refuse to give anything away. They want to keep it a surprise."

Constance tuts, shakes her head. She wonders if she'll manage to extract more information from Aramis, but then, she knows how good he's at keeping secrets and it'll only end in her failing. 

Porthos likes chatting with her, finding more about Aramis' implication in the fencing club, how he trains youngsters any time he can, how he's usually always in a library somewhere if he isn't training or in class.

It's a surprise for him when she absent-mindedly lets it slip that he's the first man he's brought to the gym in the two years she's known him. 

"He's a bit secretive with that as well." She tells so much without meaning to, but Porthos can't stop her. He should. He should want to learn this from Aramis himself and yet, it comes as such a surprise that he doesn't even think about stopping her. 

Aramis has been so outgoing from the beginning, so playful and flirtatious that Porthos has a hard time imagining him any other way. 

He's certainly not secretive when the training session is over and he joins Porthos and Constance. He looks flushed, invigorated by the work-out, rosy cheeks and damp hair, and he smiles widely once he spots Porthos. 

"Constance, I believe you've already met my boyfriend," he states after he's kissed Porthos on the mouth, a kiss far longer and more meaningful that if it had only been a regular hello kiss. 

Porthos doesn't mind at all, keeps a firm hold on Aramis' waist, standing close to him. He relishes in the pride in Aramis' words when he introduces him. Constance smirks, so does d'Artagnan once he's had a proper introduction, too. 

"It's about time you brought one along!"

"Who are you? My mother?" Aramis retorts, seemingly scandalized by what she just said. His face hasn't lost any of its apparent joy, though. 

"Are you joining us tonight?" d'Artagnan inquires. 

"Unless you have other *plans*..."

Aramis scowls. Porthos likes Constance. She isn't ashamed to speak her mind, seems to have an amazing relationship with Aramis and it's a wonder in itsef that they've only known each other for a couple of years. They behave as if they met decades ago, how at ease they are together. 

But then again, Porthos often feels the same when he's with Aramis, which used to unsettle him and he's growing used to it. Two weeks in their relationship, two weeks since their drinks in the pub and for him, it's the same as if it'd been months. How easily he can open up, talk about everything and anything. 

Aramis does that to people. Porthos is glad he's met him. 

"We're going to a club for drinks and dancing. That's mainly for me," Constance adds, casting a loaded glance at her boyfriend. 

"That sounds cool," Porthos agrees, completely in the mood, because they haven't made any plans for the rest of the evening. Aramis shares the thought. 

The specific club they have in mind is rather far away, and yet Aramis doesn't relinquish his hold on Porthos, be it while walking in the street or in the subway, or while they wait in line to pay. 

As far as he's concerned, Porthos enjoys it very much. There've been stolen kisses whenever the others weren't watching (or when they assumed they weren't), fingers going places they shouldn't in public (under a shirt, hooked in a belt, grazing underwear). 

The club is crowded, even for a Wednesday night. The music is about the same as they play in Porthos' gym so it's not a novelty and he's content to stand by the side with Aramis, enjoying a drink or two, and commenting on d'Artagnan's awkward dancing, now that he's been requisitioned by Constance to be her partner. 

"You don't dance?" Porthos shouts in Aramis' ear, because it's the only way to be heard in the place. People step on their feet, push them together more often than not. That, they don't mind. 

Aramis shakes his head, looks up at Porthos, one bottle of beer in his hand and the other lost underneath clothing and resting on hot skin. It's not moving, which helps Porthos remain decent. It's rather comforting, to be able to do so without second thoughts. 

"Not tonight. I'd rather stay here with you."

"We could dance if you want."

Aramis shakes his head again, this time faster, and his fingers start to clutch the small of Porthos' back with more vigor. 

"I'm good here, holding you. Unless you want to dance?" Aramis realizes afterwards. Porthos finds his eyes in the flashing lights, so he cannot be sure if he simply imagines the worrying look he notices in them. 

As he bends down to kiss it away, Aramis sinks into him, clings to his neck, his cool beer against Porthos' skin. He's hardly drunk any of it. 

It's an eager kiss, because nobody pays them any mind, and others must be doing far worse in darker corners. Porthos lets him in, opens his mouth within seconds, doesn't fight how Aramis takes control of everything, how greedy he is, perhaps a little desperate for it to have to end at one point. 

He's so clingy tonight, which isn't different from any other nights they've spent together. Yet, Porthos has never seen him like this.

In the past, Aramis has kissed him widly because they were thinking about having sex, were about to have sex, were having sex. It's always been accompanied by much rubbing and moaning and grinding and touching. 

There's none of that right now. Only a long, endless kiss, always renewed after they part to breathe. 

It does make Porthos a bit horny, he cannot deny it, cannot help it. 

The air is chilly in the street after they say goodbye to Constance and d'Artagnan and leave the club. It's strangely quiet as well, even if the music still rings in their ears as they walk away. 

It might be because he couldn't do it in the club, but Aramis must have smoked at least three cigarettes by the time they reach a subway station. 

It hasn't done anything to calm his nerves, because he fidgets on his spot, yawns and remembers too late to cover his mouth. It makes Porthos laugh. 

"You look exhausted," he mentions, studying Aramis' face closely in the halo of the street lamp. In spite of his charming ways, of how crinkles appear around his eyes when he smiles (something that Porthos finds that he craves), his eyes don't exactly light up when he does so. 

"I thought you were only supposed to pull all-nighters *before* exams, not after. Have you slept at all last night?"

He has to ask because it doesn't seem so. If he considers it, Aramis looked about the same when they met in the late afternoon before his practice. It hasn't been improved by training and then going out. 

Aramis shrugs casually, lights up another cigarette. 

"Have you slept at all since I've last seen you?" Porthos hardly expects an answer to the joke. But then Aramis cringes a little at the question, and thus makes Porthos actually wonder if the answer is "no."

"Are you all right, Aramis?"

"Yeah, yeah I am."

It couldn't be more obvious. Porthos would lose patience, given the late hour and the long day he's had before it. Instead, he steps closer to Aramis, grabs the hand playing with the lighter. It shakes as he does so. 

"That's the universal cover-up for "no, I'm not", you know."

There's much distress in Aramis' face as he looks up that it leaves Porthos breathless. Desperation and hopelessness and he doesn't know what to make of it. This isn't the Aramis he's gotten to know in the past days. 

An urgent need to make sense of the situation takes over sleepiness and a potential lack of patience. Aramis doesn't resist the fingers threading with his, takes a few quick drags. 

"If you want this to work as much as I want it, at least I hope so..."

"I do. I really do," Aramis cuts him off too fast for it to be a lie. Porthos smiles a little; it comforts him. 

"Then you have to talk to me. Otherwise..."

"I'm afraid that if I tell you, you'll hate me," Aramis finally confesses. It's taken much hand-rubbing and soft, short breaths to achieve that much."...because you're you and..."

Aramis trails on, terrified of Porthos' reaction, unable to look anywhere but at him, unable to hide what's been on his mind since Saturday and the concert. 

It might simply be a natural consequence of his exhaustion, but Aramis looks like he could burst into tears at any moment. It would probably have annoyed Porthos if it had happened with anyone else. This is Aramis, though, and there's been such an incredible dynamic between them from the start, such ease and comfort that all he desires is to understand, even if it might lead to horrible consequences.

"If you don't tell me, I can't know that. Neither can you. But it's bothering you so much, I'm not happy to see you like that. It must be important."

Aramis's answer is a nod. He shouldn't but he leans forward, kisses Porthos again, gathers courage and strength. 

Then he surveys their surroundings, the cold and empty street. 

"Not here, but..."

Deep inside, Aramis thinks that going back to his apartment would be the perfect place to have their conversation. Yet, it's so far from Porthos' and when he'll decide to leave him, because he will, Aramis cannot imagine it any other way, he'll be so far from home. It'd be unfair to do that to him. 

On the other hand, he doesn't believe himself worthy of going to Porthos' place for the first time under such circumstances. 

In the end, Porthos realizes he has to choose for the both of them. 

"Come on," he decides, grabbing Aramis' hand and holding on to it firmly. 

Just like its owner, Porthos' apartment is big and warm and it looks really comfortable. 

Aramis resents not having been able to talk or act like a normal human being on the way there. He's too nervous to stay still on the couch; he has to resist the urge to light yet another cigarette. Porthos may not mind, but Aramis isn't home and he contains himself. 

He hates having to do that to Porthos who has been nothing if not great and all around amazing. 

“All right,” Porthos starts, tired of the awkward silence. He's growing a bit nervous, too. “Did you kill someone?”

“What? No!”

“Did you kill a pet, then?”

“That'd be even worse.”

“My point exactly.”

“No, I haven't.”

“Good. Did you cheat on your exams?”

Porthos does concede that it'd be a terrible reason to feel as miserable as Aramis is. 

Aramis snorts at the assumption. 

“I'm too good for that.”

“Did you use to be a girl? Because let me tell you, that would be an extraordinary transformation. But it wouldn't change a thing for me.”

Aramis laughs out loud then. Porthos grins in response. Aramis' laughter is a small reward. 

“No. I've always been a boy, I swear.”

“Well, in that case. I don't know. I give up.”

Just like that, Aramis grows serious and concerned again. He's pacing in the living room, bumps into the coffee table and the couch, doesn't pay any attention to surroundings he doesn't know. 

“I would have told you at one point. It's such a big part of my life and I'm not ashamed of it. Absolutely not. I always knew that I would tell you, I think I would have told on Saturday but you started to talk about your childhood and...I chickened out.”

He looks sheepish when he glances at Porthos who is listening intently, wonder in his eyes, and yet stays quiet, lets him go on with his explanation. 

“I've been feeling...really good with you, Porthos, and it's actually been a long time since it's happened.”

There's a half-hearted smile at this, Porthos smiles back at once. Being with Aramis makes him good, as well. 

“I feel the same,” he has to say, to reassure Aramis. It does, for a few seconds. 

“And that's the problem. Everything's wonderful, and there's this thing in the back of my mind. It's kind of wearing me out, and now it's....not an emergency...but I need to tell you and...Do you remember the texts I kept on receiving on Sunday?”

How could he not, Porthos thinks, doesn't say it. Instead, he nods. 

“From you friend.”

“She's more than that.”

The words hang between them, in the silence while Aramis breathes out. Porthos raises an eyebrow at the “she”, nods again. He motions for the other to go on, jaw clenched nonetheless.

“It's a long story,” Aramis mumbles, running a hand through his hair, tapping his foot as he stops pacing. 

“I've got all night.”

“Okay.” Aramis takes a long breath. “After I broke my foot, I was so angry because it was such a stupid accident while we were on a vacation with the team. I'd never been that furious or disappointed because my entire life had come crashing down and I didn't know...”

Porthos gets confused by the next sentence, by the fragments he gets in an order which doesn't necessarily make sense to him. Yet. 

“I like boys and girls,” Aramis explains, for no particular reason. Porthos doesn't mind. “Boys perhaps a little bit more but yeah. So I spent a few months with a cast and then with a splint and I couldn't walk properly and I was miserable. Mad and miserable.”

“Everybody had gone to the Olympics, it was during that time. I missed the Olympics because I decided that taking the freaking stairs would be better than waiting for the hotel elevator. It was broadcast on TV, though. I could have watched my friends compete but I couldn't. It was beyond me.”

“There was this guy in the team, obscurely related to the French royal family, perhaps he'd even be your king if you didn't like cutting their head off.”

Aramis smiles at his own joke, keeps on staring somewhere behind Porthos, focused on his tale, unable to look directly at the other. 

“I've never really understood why he could be in the Spanish team if he was French. Something about Spanish origins or something. Anyway. He was good, very good. Bit of a jerk, though. But that's not the point. The point is, he had a really pretty fiancée.”

It's a broken story, bits and pieces. Porthos sees where it's leading.

“Did they end up getting married?” he asks, doubtful. 

“Nope. She may even have been glad to be off the hook.” Aramis chuckles dryly. 

“I tried not to because that's no who I am, I don't do that. I don't...ruin relationships. I don't.... She didn't go to the Olympics, she had to work so some nights, she would come and hang out with the poor man who couldn't walk properly. One night, after a couple of drinks, I still can't remember why, I ended up crying on her shoulder, because the world was unfair and well...”

“Yes, I think I get it.” Porthos doesn't quite understand the point of Aramis confessing that he slept with someone else's fiancée a long time ago. He doesn't see how relevant it is to his current state of mind, except that saying it all seems to make him even more miserable. 

Aramis sighs with surprising relief that he doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“Was she the one texting you, then?”

“Yes. But we're not together. We've never been. Only this one time, I swear.”

“I believe you.” Still, Porthos finds the girl rather insistent given the excessive amount of texts Aramis received during the weekend. “I mean, you made a mistake in your past. It's not the end of the world.”

Aramis hates that he has to wipe away the smile appearing on Porthos' face as he thinks that he's done explaining his lifestory.

“It's not only that...”

Aramis looks around for his backpack, fishes his wallet out of its depths. Slowly, he sits down next to Porthos, retrieves a worn photograph out of it. It only takes a second for Porthos to recognize the people on it, the woman he had assumed was one of Aramis' sisters. 

“That's Anne,” Aramis explains. Porthos takes a moment to observe her, the blond hair, the flower crown in it, the white skin against the blue sky in the background. The smile stretching on her face, or rather the part of it he can make out which isn't hidden by the smaller face. 

It starts to sink in long before Aramis resumes his explanation. Porthos' jaw clenches again, he balls his fists and Aramis just knew it. 

He'll never be ashamed of them, loves them both so very much but the words burn in his mouth because they carry the omen of his imminent break-up and he doesn't want that. 

“I broke my foot five years ago. That's Mati, I mean Matias. He'll be four next month.”

Exactly like Aramis predicted, Porthos has no answer to this. This, he'll admit, stuns him a great deal. He would have imagined a lot, but never that. He wouldn't have imagined Aramis having kids and he doesn't understand anything anymore. He's confused. Porthos doesn't like being confused. 

He can't tear his eyes away from the little boy. Now, it's plain how he looks like Aramis. How his smiles reminds him of Aramis'. How curly his hair is, in spite of its fairness. 

“Where do they live?”Porthos eventually asks. He realizes he's clutching the photograph a bit too tight. He loosens his grip, gives the picture back to Aramis. 

“Madrid.”

“Do you see him often?” It's the most important for Porthos, it reminds him of his own parents, people he grew up without, not by choice, and he wants to know if Aramis has been playing him and isn't as amazing as he presumed. 

“I was there for Christmas. I'll probably spend his birthday with them, too, yes. I'm over there as often as I can.”

“And yet you chose to study in Paris.”

Aramis cringes at Porthos' harsh tone, how he seems to be judging him for making this choice, like he expected him to. Aramis deserves it. Yet, he doesn't flinch when Porthos turns his head and stares at him. He's done the hardest part telling the whole story. 

“What I wanted to study...The best professors are here and...it wasn't an easy choice but soon I'll be done and...I was there when he was born. I...didn't run away and let Anne face the music alone. I'm...sorry.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Porthos says, standing up and doing his own bit of pacing around. It's too much to process at once, Aramis being more than the student slash fencer slash incredible lover he thought he was. 

“You've nothing to be sorry about,” he adds. 

“You're not...mad?”

“I've made mistakes, too. Well, not like this particular one but you've had a life and sometimes, shit happens.” He catches what he just said, how Aramis cocks his head and Porthos corrects himself. “They do look nice but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, but...I thought you'd hate me since your dad...”

Aramis' tale did remind Porthos of his own situation. Now he gets it all, though, he realizes what's been going on in Aramis' mind and why he was so reluctant to explain everything, and Porthos would laugh if it wasn't for the big shock that the revelation has been. 

He has no reason to be overly jealous or angry. 

“Did you abandon him?”

“No.”

“Did you refuse to even meet him?”

“No and he's amazing. He's just like me.”

“Then you're nothing like my father, Aramis.”

Porthos steps forward, so many questions on his mind, so many details he wants to ask and learn about. He doesn't say anything, only grabs Aramis by the waist, pulls him flush against his own chest. 

Aramis is shaking in his arms, unsure whether it's a goodbye or a way to comfort him. What for, he has no idea. One part of the heavy burden on his shoulders has been lifted, that's for sure. 

“And I don't want to stop seeing you because of your past or your family.”

The choice of words puts Aramis at ease at once.

“There's simply more to you than the pretty body that caught my eye. And that's all right.”

Aramis sinks further into this wonderful man, and he cannot understand how Porthos could react like this, be sympathetic. 

The hug lasts for a long time, neither of them speaking one word. 

“Were the texts about him?”

“Yes,” Aramis sighs out quietly. “He's been sick and Anne's worried.”

“That's why you're bone-tired. Being away.”

Aramis agrees, nods. 

“I wanted to go as soon as I called her on Sunday night and I could have but...I didn't want to abandon you without a proper explanation.”

Porthos does feel angry at this confession. He forces Aramis to look up at him, and now that his body has stopped trembling, he shakes him a little. 

“Have you been making yourself worried sick because of that? Aramis...He's more important than I am.”

Aramis shakes his head, finds the strength to look outraged at the statement, doesn't get a chance to voice his opinion. 

“He is,” Porthos insists. “You go. I'll still be here when you come back.”

It comes as a shock for Aramis, to have found someone so understanding. It takes him a minute to relax and breathe out normally. 

Before he knows it, he's kissing Porthos, stumbling with him on the couch, thankful, overwhelmed, relieved to the core. 

“You're getting far more interesting than I imagined and I'm starting to like it very much.”

Aramis likes it, too; he likes Porthos. He tells him so, earns a wide grin, a sloppy kiss. 

“As long as you don't make her another child along the way.”

Porthos wonders too late if he's gone too far. Then Aramis snorts against his lips and he knows he's safe. 

“Good. Off to bed with you. You're still tired and so am I and I need to sleep on what you just told me.”

Porthos' bed is gigantic, comfortable and Aramis falls asleep on it, still wearing half of his clothes.


	19. Chapter 19

Aramis hurries off after his meeting with his professor. He's just spent one hour being yelled at (well, not literally but it sounded the same to him) for cancelling appointments and not showing up the some others without a proper excuse. Some things will never change, no matter if you're sixteen or twenty-seven. 

But he could not care less about his dissertation at present. Two weeks without even thinking about it for a moment have done him good, and he has no intention to change that tonight. 

Finding Porthos' gym is rather easy. It must be a busy time of the week if the large number of people working out and milling about inside is any indication. Or the classes and the instructors must be really popular. 

Two weeks without hardly any exercise either. Aramis misses it. Going for runs isn't his favourite activity. 

"Hi! Can I help you?" the young woman at the front desk asks him. She's wearing loose work out clothing, her hair is piled up in a high ponytail and there's so much makeup on her face that Aramis wonders how it's possible for her face to not shine in the bright light inside. Still, she's smiling widely. 

"Do you need any information about the classes?" She's already standing up, ready to hand him the leaflet she grabbed from the side of the desk. 

Aramis steps aside to let some people go through the automatic gate.

"I'm looking for Porthos," he explains. 

"He's with a class right now." 

Aramis knows. He was eager to see him again, though, and couldn't wait to show up only when Porthos would be done with work. 

"I know. I'm early. I'm supposed to meet him after."

The girl glances at some papers by her computer then studies Aramis closely. 

"Are you...Aramis?"

"That's me."

Without further questioning, she presses a button, there's a click and the barrier opens for him. 

"He said that if you happened to arrive before he was available, you could wait in his office."

"I'd rather stay here," Aramis decides, sitting down in one of the armchairs by the bar. "I'm sure it's more animated than in an office."

"Can I get you something to drink then?"

There is a couple of women at the counter, already drinking from tall glasses and a group of men are watching TV, lounging on a couch. 

In spite of the loud music and the occasional shouts coming from the rows of treadmills, elliptical and others, Aramis starts to enjoy it in here. 

It's huge, bigger than what he assumed, people seem to like it very much, most of them appear to know one another. 

Aramis sips on his soda while he waits. He would have loved to see Porthos in action, but he might only have disturbed him. 

There are only fifteen minutes left to his class, that Aramis spends trying to read and yet glances up so often that he has to give up. 

Then Porthos steps out of the fitness room, surrounded by a swarm of women. They all look so out of breath, many are drinking heavily and yet, Porthos seems completely fine. 

Aramis is on his feet as soon as he's spotted him. Yet, he waits patiently for him to be done chatting, even if he would gladly launch himself at him. 

"You're early," Porthos greets him, wiping his face with a towel, hiding his smile behind it. He itches to touch Aramis, to hold on to him and never let him go again. 

"I couldn't wait."

"I'm not blaming you. Come on."

The walk to his office merely takes a couple of seconds. It's a dark room, cool and no windows, but a nice lighting after it's switched on, an apparently comfortable couch and the music is dimmed a little. 

Porthos grabs another bottle of water, downs it, takes off his shirt because it smells. He smirks at the sharp intake of breath Aramis draws. 

His eyes are drawn to the naked chest which is glistening with sweat, even after Porthos uses his dirty shirt as a rag. He's been working out so much that the outline of his muscles is clearly visible, well-defined and all around perfect, as far as Aramis is concerned. 

"Are you trying to make me lose my mind?"

He drops his bag to the floor, almost stalks towards Porthos, hardly able to control himself. 

Two weeks is such a long time without seeing him, without touching him, without holding him. Without hearing the dark tones in his voice, how it turns Aramis on. How everything is turning him on right now. 

Porthos finds another top, puts it on at once. 

"I wouldn't want that. There, all better."

"I'm not so sure," Aramis scowls, a bit disappointed. 

Then he's in Porthos' arms, kissing his breath away, clinging on to his neck with one arm, the other hand clutching the new shirt, tugging on it. 

Porthos crushes their lips together, forces Aramis' mouth open without wasting another second. Aramis whimpers, closes his eyes and comes to the conclusion that he never wants to be deprived of this type of attention ever again. 

"Hi," Porthos whispers, his voice husky, their lips still brushing. He's wrapped his arms around Aramis' waist, refuses to let him take even a slight step away from him. "How's mini-you?"

Aramis cannot help but smile. It's a genuine one, carefree and so happy. So different from the ones Porthos witnessed the last time they were together.

"He's better. Thank you for asking. But I'm *so* glad to be back."

"Oh yeah? I wonder why. Parisians still complain about anything and everything, there are still cars all over the place, so many tourists it's an invasion and..."

"I missed it." Aramis shuts Porthos up with another blazing kiss and that stops their conversation for a while. 

The fingers on Aramis' waist rub his sensitive skin, push his backward until he hits the desk and he all but stumbles on it. He groans at the keyboard poking him in the back, before Porthos allows him to get more comfortable. 

Then he's half-lying on the piece of furniture, papers and stationery falling to the floor, and Porthos leaning above him. 

Aramis grabs handfuls of hair, pulls Porthos even closer, doesn't let him move one inch away from him. 

The tongue in Aramis' mouth is forceful, desperate for more. He moans around it, remembers how he enjoys the way it licks inside, how it takes such control that it makes Aramis weak and wobbly. How he shudders under the pressure, under Porthos' apparent desire and need. 

"Did you really want to go to the movies tonight?" Porthos rasps out. Aramis archs his back underneath him, shivers at the fingers splayed on his naked flesh, glazing on his stomach. His skin is as soft as Porthos remembered, but he doesn't mind getting a vivid reminder. 

Aramis takes his breath away when he manages to wrap his legs around his waist, uses all his strength to push Porthos on him and their obvious erections rub together, through too many pieces of clothing. 

"I wanted to suggest something because we're not...animals," Aramis replies in a gasp, his actions proving him wrong. 

Spain wasn't a vacation, he was busy during the day, but then at night, his thoughts would turn to Porthos and what an ordeal it was to remain quiet in such moments. 

If he shared the thought out loud, Porthos would admit it was the same for him. 

"Oh, I wouldn't mind. At all."

He grinds down, makes Aramis throw his head back, knock over the phone. Finding an incredible strength within him, Aramis leans up, ends up sitting on the desk. 

Porthos groans, buries his head in the crook of Aramis' neck, sucks there, relishes in the tremors he feels under his wet lips. 

"But perhaps we could...get reacquainted some place else?"

Aramis ignores him, attempts to push his sweatpants low on his hips. 

"Some place where no one will come looking for me and interrupt us?"

Aramis does consider it this time. It's incredibly hard to detach himself from Porthos, though. The pants stay on, it's simply his hand which palms his erection through the thin fabric. Porthos jerks at the move, wants more, would probably let Aramis continue until he's made him come. 

He'd forgotten how much of a tease Aramis could be. 

"Lead the way to that magical place, then," he orders, taking his hand back. Smirking at Porthos from behind long curls and thick eyelashes. 

They both amaze themselves when they manage to stop and calm down enough to step out of the office and back into the gym without being too flushed or in an awkward situation. 

The air is warm in the street, all the kissing and groping going on in the elevator to Porthos' apartment don't help them cool down. 

The sun is bathing the inside of the apartment, not that Aramis bothers too much about it. He blinks in the blinding light, gets a proper grip on Porthos' neck and hangs on, sighs against his lips. 

“I'll go have a shower and...”

“Can I come?”

Porthos would love to say yes. Instead, he shakes his head. 

“Do you remember how small it is?”

Aramis needs a second to remember that the first and only time he's been in Porthos' shower, they almost destroyed it. Such a shame that two grown men can't fit in it. 

“No shower then. It's not urgent.”

“I do stink, though,” Porthos retorts. 

Aramis doesn't mind. It's a musky scent, sweat and the hint of Porthos' deodorant, mint perhaps, not as fresh as it's supposed to make him smell. He breathes it in. 

“I'll make it extra quick,” Porthos promises. Aramis's fingers stick a little to his skin once he takes them back and clearly, a shower will only benefit them. 

He still sulks and plops dramatically in the couch, notices the jacket hanging on the back of a chair. He knew he had forgotten it somewhere and not simply lost. He reclines in his corner, undoes the top buttons of his shirt. 

It seems that no time has passed when Porthos emerges from the bathroom, gloriously naked, drops of water trickling down his back, his beard, his hair. 

Aramis clears his throat at the sight. 

“Are we re-enacting how we met?” he eventually asks, his eyes locked on the towel wrapped around Porthos' waist. 

Porthos shrugs from his spot in the middle of the living room. His chest rises with each breath he takes, the towel moving on his hips. Aramis is unable to look away. 

“What's the point of putting on more clothes?"

“Exactly.”

And then he's on Porthos, yanks the towel down, drinks in the other's perfect naked body. He wraps his hand around Porthos' cock, strokes and strokes until Porthos has to hold on to him to avoid collapsing. 

Porthos' cock is so full already, so thick between his fingers. Aramis sinks to his knees, swallows most of it, goes faster than he intended, cannot contain himself. He licks it thoroughly, sucks along it's length, spends so much time on its tip that Porthos has a difficult time not moving. 

There's a hand buried in Aramis' hair, the other strong on the table behind him and without it, he would certainly have fallen down. 

Aramis tastes salt after a while, grins around Porthos' cock, moves one hand that was on a hip to the other's ass, clutches it. He casts a look up at Porthos, his eyes half-closed but still staring at him, drinking in the sights. 

Porthos' breathing quickens as Aramis laps at him, silky and warm tongue against sensitive skin, delicious and perfect. He hisses, jerks his hips forward in surprise when the wet lips move from his cock to his balls, tiny kisses which drive him insane. His cock throbs, such a sweet pain that Aramis has no intention to end anytime soon. 

"Fuck me!" Porthos cries out because strong fingers are on him again, and with them, there isn't a single part of him that Aramis is ignoring and after two weeks of having to find his release by himself, it's almost too much at once. 

Aramis smirks up at him, gives each of his balls one last sloppy kiss and then he's on his feet again, hungry mouths colliding, too eager and desperate to kiss properly. 

"I was actually hoping it would be the other way around," Aramis whispers. Porthos' eyes turn impossibly darker. 

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Aramis breathes out, allows Porthos to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. 

There's nothing romantic or playful in the way they get Aramis out of his clothes. They exchange kisses throughout the entire thing, Porthos working on Aramis' belt and his jeans while Aramis takes care of the remaining buttons of his shirt. 

Porthos pushes him down on the bed, watches how Aramis crawls to make room for the other, how the outline of his cock is clearly visible, trapped underneath the black underwear. 

He licks his lips, swallows thickly with all the promise of things to come tonight, of how much he's yearned for it. 

Aramis is making a show of taking off his boxers, decides to make it last as long as he can, all the while looking seductively at Porthos. It definitely works. Porthos is captivated by the vision on his bed, the naked man proped on his elbows, how he beckons him closer with a move of a finger. 

Porthos doesn't require any further invitation. He all but jumps between the spread legs, covers Aramis entirely, does not move one inch, pins him down to the mattress. 

Lips are clashing, muffling moans and whimpers, tongues fight for control and it's anything but gentle. 

Aramis wraps himself around Porthos, arms and legs, presses him impossibly closer, wants more of him, wants everything. He wants to only breathe Porthos, to only feel Porthos, anywhere and everywhere. And preferably for ever.

His heartbeat speeds up every time Porthos grinds down against him and Aramis can feel his own cock, which had been painfully trapped in his jeans before, leak against his stomach. 

It's too bright in the room around him, it's too suffocating and overwhelming. He never wants him to stop. 

Especially when the weight of Porthos' hand glides down his side, traces the outline of his thigh, brushes up and down, then on his stomach, makes him shudder with need and desire. Then it slides down, completely ignores his throbbing cock. 

Instead, it settles for his balls, fingers rub them slowly, carefully, and Porthos feels himself grow even harder at the glorious sight of Aramis enjoying it immensely. 

Porthos allows him to breathe, abandons Aramis' lips for his neck, his shoulder and his chest. Aramis can only gasp and moan ridiculously loud at the tongue playing with his nipples, how it makes him hotter. He has a difficult time staying still. 

He thinks he's never felt better, that it's impossible to be better, but the thought is forgotten as soon as Porthos' fingers pass from his balls to his hole. Aramis is so ready, so on edge already that he could almost come just from this new touch. 

There's no pain and his hole clenches around Porthos' fingers, lets him in so easily. Aramis spreads his legs even more, manages to wrap one around Porthos' waist, pushes his fingers deeper and groans with pleasure. 

Porthos tries to remain patient, to not rub himself too much against the bedcover but it's proving rather impossible. He's drunk on Aramis' little moans, how his body shivers and moves underneath his, how he cannot stay still. 

He bites down on a nipple, feels Aramis arch his back, does it again. 

"Just to be sure," he rasps out, his voice husky and sounding too loud in the silence. "Did you mean only that," he adds, twisting his fingers inside Aramis. "...or..."

His mouth is wet against Aramis' ear, scorching hot. Aramis squirms, turns his head to get a proper kiss. 

"I want your cock," he says and without losing a beat, resumes kissing Porthos as soon as he's said it. Porthos' cock throbs at the words. 

"Very well." He would smirk if he wasn't so turned-on. Aramis whimpers at the loss of fingers inside, only to moan with renewed energy at Porthos' wet cock rubbing against him. 

Porthos keeps staring at him the entire time he pushes in, relishes in Aramis' closed eyes, open mouth, the glistening skin of his neck, the beads of sweat gathering on his chest. 

Aramis is tight and warm and Porthos feels so good inside of him, his hands on the other's hips, keeping him in place, not letting him move for the time being. 

It's wonderful, almost perfect to be filled by Porthos and Aramis knows how big and full Porthos' cock is, how extraordinary it will be when he decides to move. 

"How d'you you want it?"

There's no real answer to the question, only a leg moving up and a foot pushing against Porthos' ass, asking him to go deeper, to at least move and so he does. 

Slowly, perhaps too slow but he's aware that given the circumstances, they'll both come too fast anyway. Each thrust brings them closer, and with the sound of their skins rubbing together, of Aramis looking at him with lust in his eyes, Porthos has to take sharp breaths to remain focused. 

Aramis's cock is leaking against his stomach, large and enticing. 

"I'll suck you dry when I'm done with you," Porthos decides, bends down and swallows Aramis' shocked cry, shows him just how his tongue will work his cock, buried so deep within his mouth. 

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

"I'll suck you back to it, then," Porthos decides, catches the eager spark in Aramis' eyes, lick his own lips as a promise. 

He rocks his hips a bit faster now, and Aramis is doing nothing to help except rock up to meet each thrust, covering the noise of their bodies sliding together with loud profanities. 

Porthos loses any sort of control soon afterwards, thrusts deeper and faster and doesn't even stop moving once he's come. 

He's oblivious to anything else but his pulsating cock surrounded by Aramis, by the way his body shivers after his orgasm, by Aramis' hand stroking his chest, up and down, up and down, until he manages to open his eyes once more. Only to find out that Aramis must have come as well. 

Aramis is out of breath, stunned by what has just happened, exhilarated by seeing Porthos in a state of such complete abandon and bliss. He hisses once more as Porthos slides out of him, slides down his body and lick his stomach clean of the come gathered there. 

Aramis' cock twisted close to Porthos' mouth, the last spasms of his orgasm. Porthos gives it a quick kiss before lying down next to Aramis. 

They're quiet for a long while, only listening to their own breathing coming back under control. 

“You can see the Eiffel Tower from your window,” Aramis comments lazily. 

“I can.”

“Awesome.”

Then he turns his head, buries his body against Porthos. 

“We should do that again,” Aramis decides, closes his eyes and focuses on Porthos' fingers roaming his back. Porthos smiles. 

“Aramis?”

“Yes?”

“I've been thinking, while you were away.”

“And?”

“This started out as sex,” Porthos states. Aramis raises his head. 

“It still is.” He wipes his arm around, motions to the bed and their sweaty bodies. He's absolutely not complaining. 

“And it keeps on getting better, but...I find you more interesting than just that. It's much more than what I expected the first time I saw you and...I mean, I'm not stupid. I know it's only been a few weeks and how could I possibly not crave having you naked in my bed?”

Aramis stretches happily at the praise, returns the compliment, adds a small kiss to it. 

“I don't want to pry but...I have to ask. What will you do when you're done with your studies?”

He's not asking about potential jobs or career choice. Aramis props himself up on an elbow to gaze at Porthos, the detached look on his face and yet he understands and recognizes how loaded the question is. He would grin like an idiot to know what Porthos must be thinking for the future if it's so important for him to ask. Instead, he considers it very carefully. 

“After Anne announced her pregnancy, everybody hated me for a while. Her parents, the most, I guess. They resented me because I'd supposedly robbed her of a great and wealthy existence. I wasn't offended in the slighest and after my life crumbling down, I actually enjoyed the new situation, how ever awkward or complicated it could be. Newborns aren't that cute when they pee or throw up on you.”

Aramis wrinkles his nose at the memory. Porthos takes his word for it. 

“Her family still refuses to see me. They love Mati but I'm persona non grata and it's so unfair for Anne, so exhausting. So when we found out about this Master Degree here in Paris, she's actually the one who pushed me to go.”

“Did you live together?”

“For a time yes. It was easier with a baby and she's a wonderful friend. We get along perfectly. I still pay half the rent.”

“Mini-you is lucky. That you don't despise each other, that is. Not that you're here.”

“Oddly, being away has made it better. Not lately, obviously, but in general she's looked more at ease every time I've come back to visit. Anyway. All that rambling to say that unless her family forgives me or at least accepts me in her life, I'll stay away.”

Aramis looks pained when he says it, and really who wouldn't in the exact same situation. Porthos has no idea how he would react if he was in Aramis' shoes. Such strength and selflessness. 

“That's rather....noble of you.”

“I didn't say it was easy. It's not.”

He has no time to let sadness sink in because Porthos gathers him in his arms, hauls him up on top of his naked body. Aramis squirms a little before he settles down in the warmth of the embrace. He rests his chin on Porthos' chest to look up at him. 

“Staying in Paris would be an option then?” 

In spite of the casual tone, hope lies underneath it. 

“I considered moving to the South, just to be close to Spain but now...I guess there could be pros to staying here.” 

He smiles up from behind thick and damp curls. Porthos brushes them away from the other's face. 

“Good answer?” Aramis asks. 

“Yes. Because I think I'd like to have more than a little fun with you.”

“That would suit me very much.”

Porthos rolls them over, pins Aramis to the bed and kisses him without restraint. Aramis is flushed all over again. 

“Pizza?” Porthos asks out of the blue. 

“What? You're not going to cook for me? No romantic table with roses and flowers?”

“Do I need to woo you to get you naked in my bed?” Porthos snorts, reaches for Aramis's ass and gives it a rough squeeze.   
“Not necessarily.”

Porthos draws out a dramatic and relieved sigh. 

“I was worried there for a sec'. You're the chef, Aramis. I basically live on take-out.”

That's so unfair, Aramis decides, rather jealous of the other's perfect and muscular body in spite of the bad food he might often eat. 

“Pizza it is then.”

Porthos leans down to give him a peck on the lips and then leaves the bedroom, stark naked. A second later, he pokes his head in again. 

“I'll light some candles on it, just for you.”


	20. Chapter 20

It takes Porthos about one hour to simply manage to drive out of Paris and by general consensus, all his passengers have agreed to keep the noise down until that time. So nobody pips a word whenever he insults other drivers and only once does Aramis dare to tell him that the light has turned green.

 

Flea manages to remain unusually quiet in the back seat. She's extremely excited to be in a car with Aramis for several hours. She has so much to learn about him. Spending three days with Porthos and him is something else she's looking forward to.

 

It's hot in the car because it's rather hot in the city as well, not only because of the cars and the pollution. It's the middle of June but for days, it's felt as if it was full-on summer already. Nobody is complaining. The a/c is on full blast, though, because Porthos refuses to roll down the windows. He needs to concentrate.

 

“You can smoke now, sorry about earlier,” he decides once they're on the highway and there are no more traffic jams to be expected. He's been rather harsh with Aramis earlier, but really, he's always on edge while driving within Paris, especially with a rental. Still, asking nicely if he could roll down his window just an inch was not the end of the world and Porthos shouldn't have snapped at him.

 

Aramis complies happily, assures him that it's no problem and that he's so thankful Porthos is the one driving. He gets comfortable in his seat, watches the suburbs go by on their left and right, wonders when they'll see some grass.

 

“So...do you do this often?”

 

“Every time we have a long weekend,” Porthos replies.

 

“Nice. Is it always the same people?”

 

He wonders if he will meet strangers or if Athos is the only other person waiting for them at his family's country estate. Porthos did not need to specify much for Aramis to accept to join him for the short vacation. Aramis would probably say yes to any outing which involved being able to spend hours on end with Porthos.

 

“More or less yes. It's not exactly a get-together because we do see each other in the city but, it's a relaxing change from all that stress and noise.”

 

“And you said there were horses?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Flea chimes in. “And a hot tub, and a swimming pool and the tree house.” She stretches the last words and Aramis cannot help but notice how she looks in the rearview mirror. Porthos sees it, too, raises an eyebrow.

 

“What's up with the tree house?” Aramis has to inquire.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Are you planning on taking Aramis there?” Flea presses.

 

“Shut your mouth,” is Porthos' less than courteous reply. “Why don't _you_ take Charon?”

 

Aramis understands that there's no point in insisting about this story right now. It might irritate Porthos more and it's clearly not on the list of activities he has planned for the few days they'll have together. He makes a note to ask him later nonetheless.

 

The car is silent for a while after this, since Flea has nothing else to offer in retaliation to her friend. She sinks back against Charon in the backseat, watches the road signs fly by and the buildings becoming more scarce.

 

Aramis drops his head against the door, watches the scenery flash by, enjoys the sun on his face and the hand Porthos casually drops on his knee. He holds on to it, plays with the smooth fingers.

 

“I don't remember you taking anybody else but Alice on those weekends,” Flea remarks out loud. It brings Aramis out of his torpor. Porthos cranes his head to look at her in the mirror. He relaxes once he sees that she's not teasing anymore and that she isn't trying to spill dirty secrets to Aramis. Her face couldn't be more serious.

 

“He took that guy from that website some years ago,” Charon corrects.

 

“Oh, right. The one who almost let all the horses escape. This one really was a catch, Porthos.”

 

“Hahahaha,” he says dryly, not a hint of humour on his face. He's rather mortified that all his dating history is being released to Aramis. Carpooling always meant some complication, he was well aware of that, but he had decided to not make too much of it. Now, though, he's not so sure.

 

Unfortunately, he cannot keep Aramis to himself either. There's a thrill in finding that things go smoothly between them and that they always have so much to discover about one another. After two months, there's a relative easiness in their relationship, and they don't have to try to feel happy or good. The feeling is new to Porthos. It would almost bother him to realize he's spent so many years unaware of such a blissful state but now he has Aramis to occupy his thoughts and that's more than all right.

 

Flea has a point, though. It's a big step for him to invite Aramis along for the weekend, one he almost didn't realize he was taking. It certainly had felt natural to propose it to Aramis and the delight on his face sure was a nice reward. The reassurance that Porthos had made the right choice.

 

“Who's Alice?” Aramis asks after Flea is done smirking and criticizing Porthos' choice of boyfriends. He hears her little snigger behind him.

 

“She's an old friend. We used to date back in high school,” Porthos adds because there's clearly no point in keeping it a secret. Flea would have likely said something about it before the end of the ride. “You'll see her later anyway.”

 

“Is she still coming even though you have Aramis?”

 

“She's a friend of Ninon's, too,” Porthos reminds her. “And of Athos'. Why couldn't she come?”

 

“Who's Ninon?” Aramis feels clueless, having to ask about all these women he knows nothing about.

 

“She's Athos' lady friend,” Charon explains. Flea cooes.

 

“That's so nicely put.”

 

“Well, it's the truth.”

 

“So...like his girlfriend?” Aramis sounds quite stunned. He wouldn't have imagined it of Athos who always appeared to him as solely dedicated to his art and to be honest, a bit of a recluse.

 

“Sort of,” Porthos finishes the explanation. “They're always on and off. They argue a lot.You should like her. She teaches psychology.”

 

“Sweet. Anybody else? Exes I should know about?” He says it so casually, so playfully that Porthos cannot take offence in it. Instead, he glances down at the hand Aramis puts on his thigh, the one squeezing his knee.

 

“Only Athos' brother and his wife. Who never dated anybody else but each other. Much like those two in the backseat!”

 

Porthos raises his voice as he speaks because Flea has started to smother Charon with kisses and it's not the distraction he requires right now. She stops long enough to stick her tongue out at him.

 

Aramis laughs out loud, closes his eyes, scoots on the edge of his seat to be closer to Porthos.

 

Next thing he knows, he's blinking in the sunlight after being nudged back to consciousness. The car has stopped, it's still too hot in it, but resolutely quieter than he remembers. While he gets his bearings, Aramis realizes he's alone with Porthos.

 

“We're here, sleepy head,” he greets him and Aramis smiles sleepily.

 

It takes some time for him to adjust to the sunlight yet when he does, he can only marvel at the gigantic house in front of him. As a matter of fact, it's more a mansion than a regular house. The alley which leads to it looks endless, too incredibly long to see the beginning of it. There are so many trees, such green.

 

Porthos likes seeing Aramis speechless as he tries to take in as much of the sights as he can. Truth be told, Porthos is always a little amazed by Athos' family estate, too. He remembers too vividly how he felt the first time he's stepped foot in it, intimidated and in awe at the same time.

 

He must have looked the same as Aramis does during his close inspection of the magnificent staircase. He cranes his head to get a proper look at the ceiling and the frescos on it and the only thing he manages to say to express his admiration is “wow”. Athos finds it funny.

 

“It's like in a fairytale,” Aramis marvels while he shakes his hand. Athos has to smirk.

 

“Then you'll like our room even better,” Porthos whispers in his ear. They are walking up the stairs as he leads them to the room he's occupied every time he's stayed in the house. “It's sunny in the morning and cool in the afternoon.”

 

Aramis grins knowingly, catches the meaning behind the innocent explanation.

 

The bedroom Porthos leads him to overlooks the grounds, there's even a balcony and Aramis breathes deeply once he's on it. His eyes catch the swimming pool, the giant pool house, the massive grill and the table, the chairs, the deck chairs.

 

“It's straight out of Gatsby,” he decides.

 

“You and your literature. Always on spot.”

 

“Everything is amazing.” His eyes sparkle like a little kid. “It's like having an entire hotel all to ourselves.”

 

“Except without the room service.”

 

Porthos sinks into the soft bed face first, his bones aching from long hours of driving. He wishes he could have napped like Aramis did, unaffected by the raucous Flea kept on making. He moans in appreciation because the linens smell fresh and everything around him is designed to make him feel instantly better.

 

Aramis sits by his side, starts to pet his hair and rub his shoulders. Porthos moans again, louder.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Aramis asks after a while. Porthos had almost fallen asleep, listening to the birds singing through the open French windows. He finds the strength to nod.

 

“I couldn't help thinking that downstairs, everybody looked far happier than they would normally be when meeting a new person. Even Flea and Charon looked extremely pleased to see me.”

 

Even if he's only seen them for a few minutes, Ninon's wide grin is fresh in his memory. Aramis distinctly sees how Alice failed to hide the little squeals of delight she made when Porthos introduced him to her. The hug she gave Porthos also lasted far longer than the ones she gave to her other friends.

 

For Aramis, it felt like he was meeting Porthos' family and not merely a couple of old friends. Athos had also definitely moved on from being simply courteous and professional with him to smiling warmly.

 

“That wasn't a question,” Porthos comments. Nevertheless, he sees where Aramis is going. He turns his head to meet Aramis' kind yet wondering eyes. His hair is on his face, but it doesn't completely hide the frown troubling his pretty head.

 

“I've never been really lucky with relationships. There was Alice in high school and she's a great girl but I was so young and it didn't work out and since that...I've had people but it seems that it can't last longer than a few weeks.”

 

Aramis' frown deepens because clearly, this is not the type of life Porthos deserves. Yet, he stays silent, continues to pet his hair, running his fingers through the short curls.

 

“There's never been someone actually important for me. And I don't quite mind. I mean, I could still have fun for the time I was with them and they were all rather nice. No jerks, no one cruel or disgusting. So I guess at one point, I convinced myself it didn't matter.”

 

“Apart from my friends, there hasn't been someone I actually felt close to or comfortable enough to care about for longer than a few weeks at most.”

 

Porthos shrugs at his own words, starts to realize how lonely his life has been, even though it's always been full of people. If there's one thing he hates, it's staying alone for too long. He needs people around him, maybe because he grew up in a crowded orphanage and that most of his foster families didn't quite include him in their life.

 

If he considers it, Porthos needs people to care about. He needs it, deeply. It's just his luck that no one seemed to fit the description from a romantic point of view.

 

He rolls on his back then, to stare up at the ceiling. Aramis is still there, on the side, obviously fighting an inner battle to defend Porthos.

 

“So you see, I guess people are used to seeing me by myself at important gatherings. You wouldn't bring someone you know wouldn't be around for long to significant events, would you?”

 

“But how could you know that they wouldn't be around for more? I mean...How could you be so sure it'd be the same with everybody?”

 

The hand has stilled in Porthos' hair and he catches the apprehensive edge in Aramis' voice.

 

“I can't explain it. I just knew. And I don't think I was making a lot of effort to make it work either. To be fair,” he adds after he takes a second to reflect on it, “I didn't expect it would be different with you. Only that you're here now.”

 

At these words, Aramis tries not to grin too widely. He fails miserably. The frown is gone, because Porthos may not have had luck in the past, that was the past and Aramis doesn't intend to repeat the same pattern. Not if he's allowed to go on a different path.

 

He kisses Porthos on the mouth, stifles the short chuckle and replaces it with his tongue. Porthos puts his arm around Aramis' waist, finds great comfort in such a simple and natural move.

 

“I can only assume you put people at ease and make them feel safe.”

 

The emotional squeal of surprise that Aramis wants to give at this particular confession is trapped in his throat. He swallows it thickly.

 

“Is it like that for you?”

 

“Yes, definitely.”

 

“Is that scary?”

 

But they're both grinning like a couple of idiots that the question seems redundant.

 

“It's...the unknown for me. But let me tell you, you're amazing in the sack, you're spectacular company and what you did last night? Aramis, I'd pay to have you read to me in Spanish for hours.”

 

Porthos even dreamt about Aramis cuddled with him on the couch, a book in hand. He perfectly recalls how the lovely sounds rolled on his tongue, how that same tongue stuck out between Aramis' lips so often, wetting them, making them shinier. Porthos can still hear the tremors in Aramis' voice, the orgasmic rhythm, the intensity he put behind every single syllable.

 

It was the best preliminary. Ever.

 

Aramis smirks, has to kiss him again.

 

“For what it's worth, I met someone the first couple of months I was in Paris. After my Spanish debacle, I wanted to see if I could do a real relationship again. It was okay but then, I told him about Mati and Anne and he just ditched me so...it was like a cold shower. I didn't really bother meeting anybody else afterwards. I suppose it was a good thing I had fencing and my studies to keep me busy, though.”

 

“So...when I overheard you asking Athos about me the first night we met, I guess I decided I was tired of staying on the sidelines.”

 

“You deserve the spotlight.”

 

Aramis cocks his head.

 

“That was extremely cheesy. But thank you. For everything. For inviting me here today. For giving me a chance.”

 

“Because _that_ wasn't cheesy?” Porthos asks back, rolls them around on the bed so he can sink on top of Aramis and hear the sigh he gives.

 

“And...I'll have to thank you properly later,” Aramis continues, ignoring the interruption. His hand rubs Porthos' chest through his tee-shirt. His voice is barely a whisper when he makes this promise. Porthos likes what it implies for the evening. “But right now, I want to try one of those cocktails Ninon was bragging about.”

 

“And you should. They're to die for.”

 

He gives Aramis one last resounding kiss before they leave the bedroom to join the others on the patio.

 

Flea looks even happier than they are once they walk outside, hand in hand, giddy and excited.

 

 

A day later, Aramis is certain that this vacation is one of the best he's ever taken. Everybody is so friendly, they have all welcomed him easily into their tight group. He feels like he could belong and he enjoys the feeling. Besides, Porthos is never far away, always ready to be kissed or touched and it almost makes Aramis dizzy with happiness.

 

They've caught up on sleep and woken up to radiant sun in the bedroom, they've made good use of their private bathroom, its comfortable bathtub. Aramis has lounged around on the balcony wearing only a robe and almost ended sunburnt because it was such a relaxing spot he fell back asleep.

 

They've visited the grounds with Athos and his brother. Aramis has learned so much about the others in so little time, details and anecdotes and how Porthos is an incredible rider, a natural on a horse.

 

Ninon has cornered him by the swimming pool after lunch for a long conversation about his studies and what he intends to do after. She isn't much older than he is and yet it amazes Aramis that she's already had a quite successful academic career.

 

On another note, Porthos has also cornered him while they were going to the kitchen to kiss him deeply, for far longer than was acceptable. Which led to Flea barging on them in the hallway and rolling her eyes dramatically, all the while smirking knowingly.

 

Aramis has helped Athos' sister-in-law and Alice cook their dinner, the fish Charon caught in the morning in the big lake that Athos' family also owns. Porthos has been moaning throughout the entire meal, clearly enjoying the food very much, his leg pressed against Aramis' sitting by his side at the long table.

 

Everybody has praised his skills and decided that he's a invaluable addition to the cooking team. Aramis' face starts to hurt because he cannot remember the last time he's stopped smiling during the day.

 

He wishes the weekend would never end.

 

It's night, now, the air is a bit chilly but no one feels like going back indoors. Aramis is helping bring the dishes back to the kitchen and Flea springs on Porthos the moment he stands up.

 

“Jokes aside....” Then she hugs the life out of him. Porthos is motionless for a second, wondering how a small woman can have such strength, before he returns the embrace, out of habit.

 

“What's that about? I only gave you one candy from my drink. That's hardly cause for such behaviour.”

 

“Hush, you big beast. It's for Aramis.”

 

“What about Aramis? Oh, yeah...he's nice,” he adds, unable to smile in her hair. Flea snorts, looks up at him.

 

“More than nice, I'd say. How'd you like him?”

 

“A lot.” The admission comes easily. It's effortless. It _is_ a bit scary. Exhilirating. It is going too fast. It's not like him to get his hopes and yet...Porthos finds it difficult to believe that something could go wrong with Aramis.

 

Flea is still holding on to him when Alice crashes against his side and hugs them both as well, cuts his train of thoughts, prevents him from going over possible problems they may encounter some day. In the end, Porthos has to laugh and surrender to the loving.

 

“Aren't you jealous I finally found someone to replace you?”

 

“He's lovely and you deserve him, Porthos,” Alice replies, her cheek cushioned on his arm, a cute smile on her face.

 

“I told him to show Aramis the tree house,” Flea explains. Porthos rolls his eyes once more, just when Aramis decides to choose this moment to come back.

 

“What's up with that tree house?”

 

Alice blushes furiously, extracts herself from the warm embrace to take on the task of cleaning the table. Everybody knows that story and it's embarassing.

 

“You guys are insufferable. You don't deserve our company.”

 

Porthos grabs Aramis' hand and starts to lead him away, ignoring the chorus of complaints and the distinctly feminine catcalls which follow them as they disappear in the darkness. After a few minutes, the shouts lessen to be replaced by a quiet chatter. Until there's a shrill and a loud splash. Aramis wipes his head around in alarm, but Porthos doesn't pay it any mind.

 

“That's Flea in the swimming pool. It's good for her to cool down from time to time. And that must be Charon,” he adds after they hear another louder splashing noise. It's funny how he doesn't react more to it, as if it's almost a routine.

 

Aramis finds comfort in it all as he buries himself against Porthos' side and the firm arm around his shoulders. He lets Porthos show him the way. Neither of them is speaking, simply enjoying each other's company.

 

They round up the large vegetable patch Athos' parents maintain when they're around. There are lanterns all around it, keeping watch on the vegetables which provided for their delicious dinner. Then, they stop in front of a small circle of trees and the tree house Aramis can make on top of one of them.

 

It's huge, much larger than any regular and precarious tree house he's ever seen. Even the ladder is solid and the climb isn't as stressful or frightening than it might be at night.

 

Everything inside is also still in excellent shape and it looks incredibly comfortable. It appears that it's still being used, probably by Athos' nephews. There are pillows and books, toys and rugs and a couch.

 

“I wouldn't have expected anything less considering the house,” Aramis says after he's plopped down on a plush rug. He kicks off his shoes, lies down. Porthos kneels by his side.

 

“The first time I visited, for Athos' birthday, I'd only known him for a couple of months. I was always on edge, not used to being around so much wealth and luxury. Alice must have noticed, how kind that she was, because she brought me here, told me that we could take a break from the opulence.”

 

But, as Aramis so aptly put it, given the state of the tree house, Porthos never really understood the difference.

 

“She's known Athos forever. Their families were close so she clearly felt at home here and then...she kissed me,” he admits.

 

Aramis cannot hide his surprise. He's enjoying this tale very much.

 

“That was quick!”

 

“She may have wanted to see how it felt to kiss someone with my background. You wouldn't believe the rumours which went around about me at school. The point is, after that day, we ended up dating all through high school.”

 

Aramis awws and oohs at the cute story told by the massive man he calls his boyfriend and at how he was assaulted by Alice.

 

“Is that why the tree house is special? Because I think Flea is aware that we've already been kissing for some time.”

 

To prove his point, he crawls onto Porthos' lap, gets into his personal space, arms arouns his neck, legs around his waist.

“That's also why the place is infamous,” Porthos whispers against Aramis' hot lips. His hands are on his hips, clutching, dipping under the tee-shirt. Aramis squirms a little, allows one of Portos' hands to slide against his stomach to unbutton the top button of his jeans.

 

“The same night?” He's moaning at Porthos' hand rubbing between his legs. It doesn't take long for his cock to strain in his underwear. Aramis doesn't care too much about the answer as he drops his forehead on Porthos' shoulder.

 

“Not _that_ quick. Senior year.”

 

Aramis doesn't pay attention to the conversation anymore. Instead, he takes off his tee-shirt in one swift move, allows Porthos to stop touching him for a few seconds while he gets rid of his own top. Once that's done, he pushes Aramis to the floor until he's looming above him.

 

Porthos contemplates the gorgeous body offered to him, the jeans already half undone, the zipper down, the naked chest, and the lusty look on Aramis's face, the legs safely wrapped around his waist, the erection rubbing against Porthos'.

 

“Enough talking about that,” he decides.

 

“Agreed,” Aramis replies. The word is swallowed by a greedy kiss.

 

So many wonderful things have happened during the day, Porthos has been feeling so well with Aramis but they've hardly had a minute to themselves. Everything is coming back now, flooding his mind, flooding his heart with warm feelings.

 

His skin is attracted to Aramis', he cannot stop touching it, touching every single inch of it, be it with fingers, nails or mouth.

 

Aramis hisses, archs his back when he feels Porthos' teeth gliding down his chest, one burning trail sucking hot spots around his nipples, on his nipples, stopping by his belly button. It's a tickling sensation, because Porthos hums against his skin, licks and presses with his tongue.

 

It's no effort to get Aramis to unwrap his legs until he's lying down completely on the most outrageously expensive carpet. Porthos is almost sorry to defile it like this. There's also no resistance when he pushes Aramis' pants down so he can free his painful cock from his underwear.

 

“Do that thing,” Aramis manages to rasp out in a husky voice. He's propped up on his elbows, determined to look at what Porthos does to him. It's a challenge. Porthos' breath is scorching hot on his cock when he speaks.

 

“What thing? This one?” He peppers kisses around the base of Aramis' cock, never quite touches it, such feather touches, one finger trailing up and down the hard-on. Aramis shudders, bites his lip.

 

“Or this one?” Porthos moves on to properly kissing Aramis' erection, light kisses, barely touching it. Aramis jerks underneath him, shakes his head and breathes out heavily.

 

“That one?” Lips are replaced by a wet tongue, smooth against silky and sensitive skin. He grabs Aramis' cock carefully, makes a show of looking up to hold Aramis' gaze. Then, he licks the tip of his cock, sucks its head, swirls his tongue around it. Does it all again.

 

Aramis whimpers helplessly, fights to stay still. He finds the sight of Porthos torturing him slowly, kneeling between his legs, to be the most handsome on Earth.

 

Porthos' mouth is so hot, so soft and it swallows his cock to perfection, makes him feel better than he's ever been.

 

They've been teasing each other a lot during the day, small kisses, quiet promises and stolen words about things to come. They've been working one another to no end, something that they've enjoyed doing.

 

Aramis is pliant under Porthos' care, doesn't fight the hand on his hip asking him to stay still. His heart is beating fast, he's clutching Porthos' hair tightly, unable to let go. He throws his head back.

 

Porthos hums around him again, sucks the entire length of his cock, withdraws just enough to blow on the wet skin, enough to make Aramis' cock leak a little. He laps at it at once, does what Aramis likes the most and swirls his tongue on a regular pattern, finds all the encouragement he needs from the moans filling the room.

 

“I think you want to come,” he whispers against Aramis' ear, his fingers stroking the other's cock for a while. Aramis doesn't know if he wants to agree or if he wants to find more pleasure in making it last.

 

“I think you want to come very much.” His lips are on Aramis', red and plump, a perfect invitation. Aramis can hardly focus on anything but the vigorous hand on his cock, rubbing, clutching, touching in all the correct places.

 

“I think you want to come in my mouth.”

 

Porthos' dirty mouth almost makes Aramis come on the spot. Instead, he shudders, closes his eyes and breathes out. One long hiss until his breath is knocked out of him.

 

Porthos is blowing him again, faster than before, more eager and clearly, he's extremely talented at this. Aramis cries out after seconds of such care, effectively comes in the other's mouth, legs jerking and body spasming. Porthos' head stays buried between his legs for so long afterwards, cleaning him thoroughly, happily.

 

It's a spent Aramis who welcomes him back in his arms, buries his hand in Porthos' hair, lovingly. Their next kiss is lazy, they take their time, they slow down, calm down.

 

“A much better memory to associate with the tree house,” Porthos declares after a long pause. He feels Aramis nod above him. Fingers are splayed on his ass, and even through his jeans, he can feel Aramis on his own skin.

 

They have no urgent desire to join the others because for the short time they've gotten to know one another, they've spent the best times together. How strange that a potential one-night stand could lead to this. Still fresh and full of things to discover about the other and yet no rush, nothing but warmth, understanding and the most obvious need to enjoy each other's company.

 

Porthos is well aware that it's cheesy and he's usually not like that. He's the flirting type, the type who doesn't take things too seriously. He's the type who finds a body attractive and eventually goes for it. The type who never tries to explore feelings too much.

 

Yet, it comes naturally, without second thoughts.

 

“I like you, Aramis.”

 

He cannot see Aramis' grin. He hears it nonetheless in the happy hum which follows.

 

Porthos will have to buy Athos an entire new wine cellar as a thank you.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout-out to all of those who took this crazy ride with me. I almost drowned in sweetness and I love them both so much that you may very well expect a couple of one-shots about these two in the future.


End file.
